


Been There, Got the T-Shirt

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s04e03 Day of Honor, Eventual M, F/M, Major Character Death (but they get better!), No one really dies, Not a Crossover, Not a X-over, Time Loop!, Xena Warrior Princess inspired, Xena is not in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-24 23:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14964335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: You think B’Elanna had it rough on the Day of Honor? I present to you: Tom’s terrible, horrible, awful, really no good day.





	1. 1st Waking

**Author's Note:**

> I think, maybe ? no one’s done this before… maybe? Are there any Xena, Warrior Princess fans around? Does anyone remember an episode called, Been There, Done That? It was inspired by the movie, Groundhog Day (which I have never seen) and was, in turn, my inspiration for this fic. I have shamelessly taken dialogue from the ST:V episode and relied on the book, Day of Honor by Michael Jan Friedman, which in turn relied on the script by Jeri Taylor. 
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Chapter 1 has a lot of show dialogue. Really, I couldn’t get around it. If that bothers you, skim it? Or skip to Chapter 2? Though, if you do that, you’ll lose the punch of the story.

 

_Time is too slow for those who wait_  
_Too swift for those who fear_  
_Too long for those who grieve_  
_Too short for those who rejoice_  
_but for those who love, time is an eternity._

~ Henry Van Dyke, 1905

 

~~~

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

Tom Paris jolted awake at the sound of the computerized alarm he’d programmed the night before. A grin split his face. Today was the Day of Honor, a day he’d been anticipating for weeks. Neelix had tipped him off, and when he’d asked the ship’s resident Klingon about it, he’d been disappointed to learn that she intended to ignore the holiday. He’d researched it on the ship’s database, and discovered that it was fairly new, dating back only about a hundred years. A day to think about your past deeds and weigh your behaviour in terms of honor or dishonor on your soul sounded pretty intimidating to him, but he wasn’t Klingon. And besides, he’d already faced up to his past, and was keeping an eye on his future. 

When he’d quizzed B’Elanna about it, she’d admitted that she’d started working on a holodeck programme but had abandoned it. Tom had leapt at the chance to help her with it, partly to spend time with her showing off by doing something he was extremely talented at, and partly because he genuinely believed that she should go through with it. That she should sample this piece of her heritage. But mostly, it was so he could impress her while he spent alone-time with her. They didn’t get much alone-time. Harry was usually with them, and the rare dinner date she’d accepted had taken place either in the messhall, or in the holodeck at Sandrine’s or the resort programme. Oh, he knew what the inside of her quarters looked like, he’d picked her up or dropped her off after aforementioned dinner dates, and though she’d invited him in a few times, she’d never _invited him in_. But she would. If all went according to plan. 

He’d added a surprise at the end of the programme: a holographic _Klingonized_ version of himself (he’d had fun with the teeth) to remind her of their dinner date tonight, again to take place on the holodeck, but this time at neither Sandrine’s nor the resort. He’d recreated a romantic French restaurant near the waterfront in the Old Port of Marseilles (taking care that the air didn’t smell of dead fish like the real Marseilles docks did), and had scrimped and saved and begged replicator rations so he could provide an authentic, decidedly non-Klingon meal with wine and dessert. B’Elanna liked her desserts. 

And today was the day. 

He bolted from the bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head and hopping on one foot as he tugged down his boxers and kicked them off. He skipped a water shower opting for the faster, and free, sonic variety. He took particular care with his hair, flopping the longer front piece to one side, then the other. He shouldn’t have had it cut three weeks ago. Or maybe he needed another trim already? The sides were too poofy, and his father’s forehead glinted at him in the mirror’s reflective surface. He puffed out a breath; at least he looked rested. 

He resisted the urge to comm her and headed directly for engineering. Maybe he could talk her into breakfast. He almost forgot his padd, which would not have been good since she needed the information he’d compiled; they were always looking for new ways to increase helm efficiency and save a little power. 

When he stepped into engineering, there was a familiar tang in the air. Plasma coolant. Truthfully, it always made him think of B’Elanna. He zeroed in on her immediately, barking orders at Vorik, poor sap. She looked frazzled, and he adjusted his approach accordingly. 

“Good morning,” Tom said, offering her the padd. “Here’s the helm control evaluation you wanted.” He watched her bite down a retort, something scathing, likely. 

“Thank you.” She took the padd and set it down deliberately, without even glancing at it, then turned her back on him and resumed punching buttons on the console display. That report represented three hours of work, on his off time. Tom frowned.

“We still on for dinner tonight?” He knew the answer before he asked. 

B’Elanna sighed, glancing away from him. “I may have to work. I'll let you know.”

Tom bit down his frustration and remembered the old adage: _Nothing worth having comes easily_. B’Elanna Torres was anything but easy. “Ah-huh.” He blew out a breath. _Gently, Tommy old boy, don’t push too hard._ “Okay. Have you decided if you're, if you're going through with it?”

B’Elanna straightened and he recognized the set of her shoulders. Damnit. 

“I have, and I'm not. Today hasn't started out very well, and the last thing I need is to get involved with some obscure Klingon ritual.” 

Her words were clipped, and he recognized her tone of voice, the one he secretly thought of as _Klingon mode_. Tom felt his own temper spike and clamped it down. She was so frustrating sometimes! He huffed a breath and wagged a finger at her. “You were the one who suggested it,” he reminded her with a smile. Of course, he was the one who had grabbed on and run with it. He was the one who had pushed. 

She lifted her chin. 

He noted the warning signs in her body language but he wasn’t going to let this go that easily. It was important to her, and to him. He’d started fiddling with the programme for the challenge and her company, but the more he’d researched the Day of Honor, the more convinced he’d become that she had to go through with the ritual. But he couldn’t tell her that, not if he wanted her to change her mind. 

“I know. And for one sentimental minute I thought that I might actually go through with it.” She walked around him to another console, turning her back on him. “But not anymore,” she confirmed, straightening again and staring at him. There was finality in her eyes. 

Still, sometimes his frustration with her overrode his common sense. “Of course not,” Tom snipped. “Wouldn't want to get too sentimental.” How did she take him from mushy romantic to petulant child in thirty seconds? 

She stared at him for a moment before answering, and Tom wondered if he’d pushed her too far this time. He watched, fascinated, as she bit back whatever retort had come to mind. “I overslept this morning because I forgot to tell the computer to wake me,” she waved her hand at his chest and he had an overwhelming urge to reach out and grab it. “And then the acoustic inverter in my sonic shower blew out.”

Tom winced. “That'll make your hair stand on end.” 

B’Elanna was just getting started. “So I didn't have time for breakfast and when I got here two people were out sick so I had to cancel the fuel cell overhaul, and then an injector burst for no apparent reason and started spewing plasma coolant—”

Tom’s eyebrows rose. “That's a run of bad luck all right.”

“So I am in a bad mood.” Her tone was all challenge now, daring him to call her out. Too bad she didn’t see the irony. “And I know that I am being a little bit...testy.”

It crossed his mind to grab her and kiss her, right here in the middle of main engineering. To push her up against the diagnostic console. To see if they could make it beep! He took a step back. “That's okay,” he said. Leave. Now, his brain ordered. “Think about that dinner.” 

As he turned and headed for the door, Chakotay walked in. Tom couldn’t resist. He leaned toward him as he passed. “Be careful,” he warned, then sailed out the door. He entered the turbolift as Chell and Jarvin exited. Chell delivered the punchline of a joke, “...bartender says, we don’t serve tachyons in here.” He paused for a beat. “A tachyon walks into a bar!”

Tom frowned as he called for the mess and the ‘lift doors closed. Breakfast was regrettable, but Harry’s company made it a bit more palatable. Tom wolfed down his porridge while Harry talked about a new composition for the clarinet he was working on. He tried to pay attention, but his mind kept drifting to B’Elanna and the Day of Honor programme. He had to figure out a way to maneuver her into going through with it without appearing to manipulate her. It wouldn’t be easy. They got to the bridge with time to spare, and Tom relieved a grateful Jenkins a few minutes early. As he slid into his seat and checked the readouts, a blip appeared on his sensors. 

“Tuvok to Janeway,” the security chief called to the captain. A vessel had appeared. It looked barely spaceworthy. 

Janeway strode onto the bridge, followed by Seven of Nine, and Tuvok filled her in.

“Open a channel,” she instructed. “I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager.”

“I am Rahmin. My people are the Caatati. I apologise for our appearance and the condition of our ship. Most of our people were assimilated by the Borg over a year ago. We lost everything.”

Tom sucked a breath; he could believe it. The man was ragged and dirty, and appeared malnourished. Tom felt instant sympathy. They would help them, of course, it was the Starfleet way. At least, that’s what they taught in the history books. But it was also Janeway’s way, now _Voyager’s_ way. And it made perfect, logical sense: why make enemies when you could make friends instead? The Delta Quadrant had enemies enough. 

“How many of you escaped?” Janeway asked.

“A few thousand on thirty ships. All that's left from a planet of millions.” 

Borg, Tom thought. Just the word was enough to make his pulse jump. Though, Harry’s trials aside, Seven of Nine wasn’t exactly terrifying anymore. Perplexing, interesting if you were of a mind to delve deeper into her inner workings. He wasn’t. B’Elanna was riddle enough for him. 

“It pains me to have to ask this,” the alien continued, “but I have eighty eight people to care for on this vessel. We need food, medicines. Is there any way you could help us?”

“Of course.” The captain was smiling, likely feeling good knowing that they could help these poor people in some small way. It could have been them, ragged, hat in hand, limping through an unforgiving quadrant. Tom suppressed a shudder. “Send us a list of your needs and we'll see what we can do.”

“I'm deeply grateful. If it's not too much to ask, is there any way you might also spare us a small quantity of thorium isotopes? Without them, our systems can't function.”

“I think we can arrange that. I'll speak to my engineer.”

He thanked them, but Tom wasn’t really listening anymore. At the mention of B’Elanna, his thoughts went back to the Day of Honor programme, to her stubbornness and, yes, her cowardice, in refusing to go through with it. He thought about the way her temper flashed and simmered this morning, and about how much he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. 

He heard her voice over the comm talking with the captain about the thorium isotopes. She sounded impatient, tired. She was too damned stubborn. He suspected the Day of Honor wasn’t bringing out the best in her, and he sighed. It was time to come up with a new plan, or maybe a real plan, to woo the prickly Klingon. Operation Woo, or maybe Whoa. More likely, Woe, if she found out. He snorted, shook his head slightly, and checked his readings. It wouldn’t do to drift into the Caatati ship. He imagined their ships exploding in a catastrophic ball of matter-antimatter, much like that Kazon vessel had when Chakotay had rammed it with the _Val Jean_ after they’d been brought here by the Caretaker. 

Of course, it would take more than a tap to destabilize the core, but why chance it? 

~~ 

She wasn’t there. He’d gone to engineering, hoping to convince her to join him for lunch, but there was no sign of her. She wasn’t in the mess, either. He’d finally asked the computer her whereabouts while he still had some lunch time left, and it informed him that she was in the holodeck. He felt a swell of pride, and grinned before he could stop himself. Then it crossed his mind that she might be sunning herself in the resort. He dismissed that idea almost as soon as it popped into his head (but his brain lingered on the image of her in a bikini). She was doing it! He knew she would, eventually. Knew that it would nag her, eat away at her until she proved to herself that it was not a big deal, that she could do it. 

He weighed his options and figured he wouldn’t have time to eat if he waited until she was finished the programme, so he took a bowl of stew and choked it down. They’d have to discuss it at dinner. Still, maybe he could catch her before he had to go back to the bridge…

The programme was running when he got to holodeck two and he only debated for half a second before he stepped inside. She had left the doors unlocked, after all, and though he thought it odd she’d risk anyone wandering into _this_ particular programme he was anxious to know how it was going. She’d been inside for a long time. 

He stepped into a cool, dank cave. Smoke from torches set into niches in the rockface curled up toward the ceiling contributing to the haze in the air. He coughed. 

“Who goes there?” A deep voice sounded from the next cavern. Tom hurried forward, one hand out, fingers splayed. 

“No one,” he answered. Tom rounded the corner and came face to face with a huge, angry-looking Klingon warrior, all muscles and hair and teeth. “Hi.” The man was hulking, there was no other word for his posture, and the words ‘brute squad’ flitted through Tom’s mind. 

“Do you come to have your honor tested?” The hulk demanded. Tom backed up a step involuntarily. He hadn’t seemed quite so imposing when Tom was creating him in the lab, but now that Tom was in the programme, in the dim cave with the smoke and the damp, chilly air, he was...big. 

“Ahh...ha. No,” Tom answered. “I’m just here looking for a friend.”

“If you seek that cowardly _petaQ_ , she ran!” the hologram pronounced. “Do you plan to run as well, _blHnuch_?”

Tom looked a little closer. The hologram had a split lip and a cut above the eyebrow, and the skin around his eye and cheekbone had darkened with a bruise. He smiled. “Computer, end programme,” he called, and the cave, Klingon, torches, and all, shimmered out of existence, replaced with the black and yellow grid of the empty holodeck. 

She was either back in engineering or hiding in her quarters, and since he decided he’d had enough exercise for one day, he asked the computer to confirm her whereabouts before he headed off again to find her. He scowled at the computer’s reply, straightened his shoulders, and headed for the turbolift. 

~~

He paused outside her door wondering if he should cut his losses or forge ahead. Before he could second guess his actions, he reached out and pressed her door chime.

“Come in,” she said, and the doors parted. That was a good sign.

“I tried to find you before,” Tom said, injecting a lightness into his tone, “but you were on the holodeck.”

“That's right.” She was seated on her sofa under a lap blanket, her legs drawn up, one arm curled around her knees. Tom recognized a wall when he saw one. She looked away from him.

“You know you left it running. There was a Klingon in there who didn't look too happy.” She refused to look at him, and he glanced around her quarters taking in the mess. He reached for her workout vest, carelessly tossed over the back of a chair, and started to fold it. It was a knee jerk reaction, bred into him through generations of Starfleet officers. 

“Really?” Her tone was clipped. Tom caught the warning but ignored it. 

“Yeah,” he said, “and he was nursing a whale of a black eye. Looked like he'd had a run in with someone having a really bad day.”

“That's very funny.” Now her tone was flat. 

“So,” he tried, “how'd it go?” He perched on the couch beside her and fought the urge to reach out and touch her. 

“It didn't. Do you mind if we talk about something else?”

“As a matter of fact I do.” He was reaching the end of his tether with her attitude, and his inner asshole was ready to push her buttons. Anything to shake her out of her indulgent self-pity. “You have been like a spitting cobra all day and it's getting boring. You know, we designed that holodeck programme together, and I think you owe me the courtesy of telling me what happened.”

That shook her! She was suddenly alive again, her eyes shooting warp plasma at him. “It was ridiculous, meaningless posturing.” Her voice rose in accusation. “Honour, dishonour, what does it matter?”

“It matters because it's part of who you are,” Tom threw back, frustration finally overriding his forced placidity. “You've been running away from that your whole life.”

“Who are you to tell me that?” Her voice dripped derision, and Tom caught his breath. 

“I care about you.” It was almost an accusation, and Tom felt the pain of it cramp his gut. “But if you're going to keep pushing me away then there's no point in my staying around, is there?”

“Fine!” she shouted. “Just leave me alone.”

“Don't worry.” He stood and put some distance between them. “If this is the way you treat people who try to be your friend, you'll be alone all right.” The words rushed out of him before he could stop them, cruel and pointed. He turned in self righteous dignity and stormed out. 

Her doors hissed shut behind him and he took six long, powerful strides toward the turbolift before he paused. He should turn around and go back and apologize. Should tell her he was wrong to push her, and that she obviously was the best person to judge whether or not she should bother with the programme. 

Except he didn’t believe that. She was at odds with her Klingon half, always had been, and it was obvious to him that it was fear, not resentment, that had made her leave the holodeck. She didn’t want to explore that part of herself for fear of what she'd discover, whether it was something she’d want to deny or, worse, embrace. Secretly, he thought she was afraid that she might find Klingon culture every bit as compelling as he did. 

He understood. He knew the feeling. And she was right: there were certain things about his past, about his own life, that he wasn’t in a hurry to dust off and look at again. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. He’d handled this all wrong, but she sure as hell could get under his skin. He should have been more understanding, should never have pushed her. When he entered her quarters and saw her on the sofa, huddled into herself, he should have put his arm around her, held her hand, _kissed her silly_ his hopeful brain suggested. He sure as hell should never have yelled at her!

He sighed again and stepped into the turbolift, called for the bridge. If only he could turn back the clock and do it again. Story of his life.

~~

It was a crazy idea but it was exciting, exhilarating, and Tom tried to temper his enthusiasm because it was also incredibly dangerous. They were literally playing with fire in the form of warp plasma. His mouth twisted and he shot a glance at B’Elanna. She didn’t exactly look eager to try it. 

They were in the briefing room, senior staff plus Seven of Nine. It was Chakotay’s idea, and his face was lit with anticipation, expectation, because if it worked, they could be home in a few days. B’Elanna’s expression was tight, closed, because if something went wrong, well, they wouldn’t have to worry about it for long. 

Harry looked hopeful, the captain, guarded. Seven of Nine was her usual placid, emotionless self. Tom understood his own motivations: the thrill of being the first person to pilot a transwarp conduit was an offer he couldn’t pass up, plus he needed the distraction. His argument with B’Elanna was eating at him, but since she wouldn’t even look at him, had turned her shoulder to him across the table, he didn’t think there was anything he could do about it right now. Besides, he needed to focus all of his attention on this meeting, needed to prepare himself for what was coming. The captain was speaking.

“Tom, you, Harry, and Seven go to astrometrics. See what you can do about plotting a course home, just in case this works.”

Tom nodded and straightened, preparing to stand. 

“Your astrometrics lab is primitive and outmoded. It requires updating. Borg technology would vastly improve your chances of navigating a transwarp corridor, if you manage to open one.”

“ _Our chances_ , Seven,” Janeway admonished. “And that sounds like a project for another day.”

“I disagree,” Seven argued. “Improving the astrometrics lab now would aid...us in plotting a course to the Alpha Quadrant and—”

“Your objection is noted, Seven. But we’ll try it my way first. We’re not going anywhere for now: we’re just going to see what happens. Dismissed.”

~~ 

_We all have a past, what matters is now._

He’d said the words to Seven, and he’d meant them, but for some reason he couldn’t apply them to B’Elanna. For her, the past was all muddled up with her present, and he was just beginning to appreciate how much it mattered.

 _C’mon, Tommyboy, focus_ , he thought, but she looked disappointed, fragile. He knew she didn’t want to do this, she’d made her objections known in the meeting—strongly—but the captain and Chakotay had overruled her. Which, now, didn’t seem like the wisest course of action.

“All systems are ready,” Seven said. 

“We're only going to take a peek,” B’Elanna reminded them. “We open a conduit, get as much sensor data as we can, then close it up. I want to take this one step at a time.”

Tom nodded, it made sense. Rushing headlong into a Borg anything was foolhardy at best. And he had a sudden flash of unease, a sudden clenching in his gut. Could they trust Seven? The captain did, but she was blinded by her need to get _Voyager_ home. 

“I've set up a temporary tachyon matrix within the main deflector. It's online,” Vorik said. _B’Elanna’s shadow_ , Tom thought ungraciously. 

She nodded at Vorik and commed the bridge. “We'll need to be at warp speed to create a large enough subspace field. I'd like to reroute helm control to engineering.” 

“Agreed. Janeway out.”

She looked at him then, finally, her expression guarded. She was almost close enough that he could reach out and touch her. He refrained. “Take us past—”

“Past warp two. I know.” He stared at her a moment, then moved to his station and keyed the commands to push _Voyager_ to warp. He felt it through the deckplates, through the soles of his boots, the vibration stronger here in engineering. “We're at warp two point three.”

B’Elanna nodded. “All right. Vorik, start emitting the tachyons.”

“Energising the matrix,” the ensign replied. 

“There's no indication of a subspace field,” Seven said. “I recommend switching to a higher energy band.”

B’Elanna nodded again coming around to stand beside Seven and glance at her console. 

“That did something,” Tom said. He felt a rush of excitement as the readings on his display suddenly spiked, then dipped, then spiked again. They reminded him a little of the dance of the core’s electro-plasma. 

“The subspace field is forming,” Seven said, as cool and flat as ever. 

“Tachyon particles are leaking into the propulsion system!” B’Elanna’s voice rose in warning. She pushed Seven out of the way and started jabbing at buttons on her console.

Tom’s rush turned into a jolt of fear. “Shut down the deflector!” he said, fighting to keep his voice level.

“Done. But the leak is continuing,” Vorik responded evenly.

“Janeway to engineering.” The captain likely wanted to know what the hell was going on down here. B’Elanna had been right, of course, the test had been foolhardy. One risk too many.

“The tachyons are flooding the warp core, Captain,” B’Elanna replied. At least she didn’t sound panicked. Tom took a breath and pushed down his own fear. They’d put too much faith in Seven and now might pay the ultimate price. He glanced at B’Elanna. It wasn’t fair! It couldn’t happen this way! 

“I've cut all power relays,” Vorik said, “but the tachyon levels are still rising.”

“All right,” B’Elanna shouted, using her command voice, “everybody out! Now!” As her staff scrambled toward the exit, she turned to Seven. “That means you as well.”

“I can be of help,” Seven objected. If she could bottle that ‘cool under pressure’, she’d make a fortune, Tom thought.

“That's an order,” B’Elanna snapped. Seven, presumably used to being ordered around, hurried out, but Tom stayed put. There was no way he was leaving her!

“You can't order me,” Tom quipped, “I outrank you.” Technically, it was true; Tom was a bridge officer. And if they suffered a cataclysmic tragedy (like a warp core breach?) that took out the captain, Chakotay, and Tuvok, he would become _Voyager’s_ new commanding officer. If he survived. If there was anything left of _Voyager_ to command. 

B’Elanna didn’t even bother to argue. “We've got to neutralise the core,” she said. 

He wanted to snap at her, wanted to assure her that he understood that much. “I'll try decoupling the dilithium matrix.”

She shook her head. “No effect. Try it again.”

“It's not working,” Tom warned, real fear settling over him like a heavy cloak. “The core is about to breach!” They needed to leave and dump the core. Now. It was their only chance.

“I want to try one more thing,” B’Elanna said. She had climbed into the core’s inner ring, and Tom ducked under a strut and grabbed her by the waist. 

“B'Elanna, there's no more time. We've got to get out of here,” he pleaded. “Come on.” He’d pull her out of there if he had to! Throw her over his shoulder and carry her out! 

She nodded, finally, and scrambled out after him. “Computer, prepare to eject the warp core, authorisation Torres omega phi nine three.” 

They raced into the corridor filled with milling engineers and Tom slammed his back against the bulkhead, trying to catch his breath, thankful for the shielding that kept radiation from leaking out into the rest of the ship. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and he glanced at B’Elanna. She was right beside him. 

“Computer, eject the warp core,” she ordered. She slid down the wall to rest on her haunches, and tapped her combadge. “Torres to Janeway. We've dumped the core. Welcome to the worst day of my life.”

Her words were quiet and drenched in misery. Tom ached for her. 

~~

He was scanning for the core, keeping his eyes on the sensors and his navigation readings, but his mind was still dwelling on B’Elanna. Her awful morning had gotten exponentially worse, and he couldn’t help wondering if part of it was his fault. Had he made a mistake? Had he done something wrong? The captain had sent them after the warp core, and after they got it back there would be a postmortem before Janeway made the decision to try again. He voted no, not that he got a vote. But B’Elanna should. They should have listened to her from the beginning. 

B’Elanna’s voice broke into his musings. “We're getting near some random ion turbulence.” 

“I'll change course to avoid it.” Random ion turbulence. Like in their relationship. There was always something to give them a bumpy ride, always something popping up that threw them off course. 

“I wonder what else can go wrong today.” Her voice was contemplative. “If we get this core back, I'm going right to bed and sleeping straight through till tomorrow. Get this day over with.”

He couldn’t really disagree. Still, he felt the urge to at least try to cheer her up a little. “Well, look at it this way. How much worse could it get? Having to dump the warp core has to be the low point of any day.” And just maybe he could still talk her into having dinner with him. After they got back to the ship with the core, after it was reinstalled and reinitialized. Dinner at oh three hundred. That sounded fantastic. 

“Maybe it's me,” B’Elanna mused. “Maybe I'm asking for this trouble somehow.” 

Tom turned his head and stared at her. “Or maybe it's just a streak of bad luck,” he suggested. He was tired, cranky, and still keyed up from his adrenaline rush in engineering. He wasn’t in the mood to cajole her out of her pity party. 

A light flashed on his console. “Sensors have picked up a polymetallic object. Could be the core.”

She sat up and checked her own readings. “That's the warp signature all right.” She frowned, and Tom glanced back at his board. “There's something else out there. A ship. According to sensors it has the same energy signature as the Caatati ship.”

“Maybe they're guarding it for us,” he suggested, not believing it. They were close enough now to see the warp core out the viewport, hanging in space, the Caatati ship alongside it. An energy beam arced from their vessel to the core like a long, glowing rope. “What do they think they're doing?” 

Her voice rose, incredulous. “They're trying to put a tractor beam on it!”

Fear was back, making Tom’s scalp prickle. “This is the shuttle _Cochrane_ to the Caatati vessel,” he said, sending a message to them. “Please respond.”

“Don't come any closer.” The thin, querulous voice of the Caatati leader came through the comm. “We're performing a salvage operation.”

“Ah, what a coincidence. So are we.” Tom couldn’t believe it. After all _Voyager_ had done for them. He’d felt bad for them, pitied them! They had to know that without the core _Voyager_ was helpless! 

“I'm afraid we got here first. Don't interfere or we'll open fire.” 

What a way to show their gratitude. 

B’Elanna was incensed! “Don't you realise that core is highly unstable? If you try to tractor it like that you could cause an antimatter explosion.”

Tom shook his head. “They're not answering.”

“Idiots!” B’Elanna cursed. Her fingers were flying over her console. “I'm going to try and disrupt their tractor beam.” 

A spray of energy shot from the shuttle’s deflector and connected with the Caatati’s tractor beam. Tom saw from his sensor readings that it was losing power. A few more seconds and it might lose its grip on the core entirely. “It's working,” he shouted. 

Suddenly, the shuttle shuddered, and Tom almost lost his balance and almost sailed out of his seat. “What was that?” he asked.

“They sent an antimatter pulse back through our particle beam.” B’Elanna was concentrating on her readouts, still pressing buttons, trying something else. Tom felt dread pool in his belly. 

::Warning. Structural integrity field has been compromised. Now at fifty three percent and falling. Hull breach in two minutes twenty seconds::

B’Elanna’s head jerked up and their eyes met. She grimaced and looked away. “Reroute power from the propulsion and weapons systems.” Tom hurried to do as she asked. 

::Warning. Hull breach in two minutes ten seconds::

Tom shook his head. “No effect.”

::Warning. Structural integrity field has collapsed. Hull breach in two minutes::

He stood and tugged on her arm. “We have to get out of here,” he said, moving toward the back of the shuttle. Quickly, he opened the bin that contained their EV suits and pulled out the pieces, handing a set to B’Elanna. They’d been drilled in suiting up, and he was thankful for the practice. He knew he had plenty of time, but in the simulations his hands didn’t shake. 

::Warning. Hull breach in one minute fifty seconds::

He instructed the computer to send a distress call to _Voyager_. There was no response. 

“The comm systems must be down,” B’Elanna said. 

Great. Fantastic. He checked the console. “Transporters are still online,” he said. He pulled a tether from his suit, making sure to give it plenty of play, and hooked the end to B’Elanna. There was no way he was going risk having her float away from him any more than she already had. “Stand by to energise,” he advised her, then instructed the computer, “Energise.” 

The inside of the shuttle sparkled and shimmered and faded, then was replaced by the diamond studded blackness of space. Tom felt disoriented for a moment as the deck beneath his feet vanished, fought the feeling that he was falling and about to tumble over backwards. Light caught the corner of his eye and he turned his head and watched the _Cochrane_ explode in a ball of fire and chunks of flying duranium and tritanium. He fought the urge to duck. 

“Paris to Voyager. Do you read me? Please respond. Paris to Voyager.” He had no idea if their distress call had reached _Voyager_ , or even when they might begin to miss them. Surely they had enough air for the wait. Of course they did. 

“It's no use,” B’Elanna said. “The comm system in these suits won't carry that far.”

“When they get the impulse engines repaired they'll come looking for us.” Tom was almost certain he’d said it to reassure her, not himself. Almost. He didn’t like small spaces, and floating in space in an EV suit was about as _big_ as you could get, but there was something claustrophobic about it, too. He shifted his gaze to B’Elanna. 

“Well I don't plan on just drifting here hoping someone will just come along and rescue us. There must be something we can do.”

She was frowning, and her gaze kept flicking to their feet, to the side, back to Tom. 

“Agreed.” He wondered if she was prone to panic attacks; he had no idea. But he knew she liked to be busy, that that was the way she asserted control. And there was nothing else quite like floating in space without a shuttle to make you feel powerless. He needed to distract her. “If we could interplex the comm systems in both suits we might be able to create a phased carrier wave. Voyager would read the signature and know it's from us.”

She nodded. “Good idea. Let me access your controls.”

He reached for her and pulled her close, sliding his bulky, gloved hand around her equally bulky, suited shoulders, imagining what it would feel like to hold her without the suits. Tom grinned as the devil prodded him. “I thought you'd never ask.”

She ignored his remark. That was a good sign, actually. She hooked her leg around his ankle and shifted so that she was leaning against his chest. “That's it,” she said, reaching for his left arm. “This would be a lot easier if I had a hyperspanner. Hold still.”

Tom gazed down at the top of her head through the top visor of her helmet. Her hair looked black in the dim light, but he could count her forehead ridges, saw the little V just above her eyebrows, the long sweep of her eyelashes, and the longer shadow they cast on her cheeks. God, she was beautiful. “Why is it we have to get beamed into space in environmental suits before I can initiate first contact procedures?”

He watched her full lips quirk. “Why is it that if we're alone for more than thirty seconds you start thinking about contact?”

“Uh-uh, that is not fair. The other day in engineering I must have gone ...four minutes before I started thinking about it.” He denied it, of course, but he wanted to say it was because he found her fascinating, compelling. Because he was crazy about her. 

That would have gone over well. He could picture her uncoupling their tether, pushing away from him, sailing off into space. So he denied it, sort of, and contented himself with holding her close under the pretext of giving her better access to his suit’s control systems.

“Okay, I'm ready to initiate the carrier wave,” she said. 

A loud, shrill tone reverberated through his suit—and his skull—and Tom gasped. “Ahh!”

“Sorry!” B’Elanna grabbed his arm and tapped the controls again. “Better?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” Tom nodded as the noise eased and faded. “Let's hope it's still that strong by the time it gets to Voyager.”

She turned her head and looked around, and Tom felt her body jerk. He loosed his grip on her back, and she floated away from him a bit, giving her enough room to turn her body toward where the shuttle used to be. “No!” she said. 

Tom gripped her arm and slowly, carefully, dragged his body around so he was facing in the same direction. The words, _equal, but opposite, reaction_ went through his head. It wouldn’t do to push too hard and have them both go sailing in opposite directions, only to be jerked back toward each other by the tether, like a couple of yoyos sharing a string. 

It took him a moment to figure out what had upset her: the Caatati ship was gone. So was the core. “We’ll get it back,” Tom said. “They won’t even be able to use it. They run on thorium isotopes.” Which made their betrayal all the worse. 

“If we don’t…” 

She didn’t finish her thought; she didn’t need to. If they didn’t get the core back, their journey was over. They might have enough auxiliary power to shore up their shields while they limped along at impulse until they found a planet that would take them. It made him furious. 

He looked at B’Elanna’s face and saw that she didn’t believe him. He heard her sigh, and take a few panting breaths. He prayed to all the gods who were obviously toying with them that she wouldn’t pass out. 

“This isn't anything like the simulations we had at the Academy,” she finally said. “They felt peaceful, like floating in the womb, but right now I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach.”

Tom winced in sympathy, “You dropped out too soon,” he said. “In the third year there's a six week course of actual spacewalks so you can get used to them.” He reached for her, but she’d floated too far away.

“I never would have lasted to the third year. If I hadn't dropped out they would have asked me to leave.” 

Tom frowned, wondering if there’d been any way he could have helped her. If, in some other universe, they’d met in the Academy, become friends, confidants. More. “I wish I'd known you then.”

She snorted a laugh. “You'd have hated me.”

Tom shook his head. No way. Never. “I can't imagine a time I wouldn't have found you fascinating,” he replied, meaning it. He felt something hit them, bounce them, and his adrenaline spiked. He gulped a breath. “What the hell was that?”

“More ion turbulence—”

::Warning. Oxygen level at one hundred fourteen millibars:: 

The computer warning came over his comm. _She_ didn’t sound overly upset about the news she’d just imparted. Tom, however, felt the first licks of real panic. 

“My oxygen supply is leaking!” He heard his voice rise an octave, told himself to calm the hell down. Panicking would only waste the oxygen he had left. 

::Warning. Oxygen level at ninety three millibars::

 _No!_ Tom thought. _This is not how it ends. It hasn’t even begun yet._ He watched as she reached for him, then drew a hose from her suit and plugged the jack into a panel on his chest. He heard a hiss of air and almost passed out with relief. 

“We'll have to share mine,” B’Elanna said. “Are you getting air now?”

“Yes,” Tom replied. He willed his pulse rate to drop, tried to not gulp in huge breaths. “Much better. Thanks.” She was checking the readings on her suit and frowning. Uh oh. “What's wrong?” he asked.

B’Elanna shook her head. “The turbulence must have damaged my suit too. I should have at least twenty four hours worth of oxygen, but there's only about a half hour left.” 

Tom didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and he knew, with sudden clarity, that _Voyager_ would never make it in time. They would choke to death, gasping for air and, if they were lucky, _Voyager_ would find their frozen corpses. _And do what with them, shoot them out into space in a torpedo casing coffin_?

He mentally shook himself. “I'm lowering the oxygen ratio. That should give us a few more minutes.” B’Elanna didn’t appear to hear him. 

“I'm feeling kind of groggy,” she slurred.

“Oxygen deprivation,” Tom confirmed. 

B’Elanna scowled. “And you're lowering it?”

“We have to try to make it last as long as possible,” he said, though right about now that seemed pointless. She was quiet for a moment, and he thought maybe she’d fallen asleep.

“It's ironic, isn't it,” she finally said. 

“What?” He was feeling a little fuzzy himself. 

“Today,” B’Elanna said, “the Day of Honour, is the day that I'm going to die.” 

He heard the catch in her voice and tried to reassure her. “We are not going to die. Would you stop talking like that?” If only he believed it.

She shook her head. “We have to face up to it, Tom.”

He knew she had a point, and if ever there was a time to face your demons, Day of Honor style, now was it. He’d been intrigued by her from the first time he’d seen her, on their Maquis ship. Gorgeous, brilliant, defensive, with a chip on her shoulder the size of a class 6 shuttlecraft. She wouldn’t even talk to him then, would barely look at him, and she wasn’t any more gracious when they’d been marooned on _Voyager_. It had taken a long time, and he’d had to take a long, hard look at himself and his behaviour, but she had finally accepted his friendship, had finally learned to trust him, he hoped. But, if they were going to die today, he needed to hear her say it. 

“There's something I've been wanting to ask you,” he hedged. 

“Well now's the time.” She smiled at him, and he almost lost his nerve. 

“When we first met, you didn't have a very high opinion of me.” It was a statement, not a question, and he found himself hoping she would deny it. She didn’t. 

“That's putting it mildly. I thought you were an arrogant, self-absorbed pig.”

His lips tilted in a slight smile, he couldn’t help it. “Flattery won't get you any more oxygen,” he teased. He drew a breath. “Do you think I've changed?”

“A lot.” She nodded. “Now you're a stubborn domineering pig.” Before disappointment could root its way into his heart, her expression changed and she shook her head. “I'm just kidding. There I go again, just pushing you away.” She looked regretful, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from hers. “You were right about me. It's what I do. Push people away.”

“Well,” he agreed, “it's a sure fire way of not getting hurt.”

“What a coward I am,” she murmured. 

Tom pulled her closer, cursing the bulky EV suits. “Shhhh…” he said. If he was going to die, he’d like to touch her one more time. That’s all. He just wanted to feel her warmth against him, to feel her breath.

They’d drifted toward each other and embraced, anchored themselves to each other, and Tom thought, _I’ll always be drawn toward you._ He allowed his eyes to close, rested his helmeted head on hers, imagining what it would feel like to hold her just like this but without the EV suits. Sakari IV. He remembered her heat, the silkiness of her skin, the pliant strength in her lean, muscled body. The softness of her breasts against his chest. He imagined running his fingers through her hair, brushing it off her forehead, brushing it for her the way he had once watched his father brush his mother's hair, that simple act of love more telling than a thousand declarations. 

He started to dream. She was wearing a summer dress with thin straps that left her shoulders bare. It accentuated the curve of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist. The fabric flared out at her hips, and billowed in a light breeze as she walked toward him through emerald green grass. She was barefoot, and her long hair was wound on top of her head in a loose bun, but some curls had escaped to play around her neck. She was beautiful, shining, the sunlight glinting off her skin. She was everything. He’d been waiting for her, transfixed as she came closer, but he started to walk toward her now, impatient to have her back in his arms. 

She said his name as he reached her, her voice low and husky and soft, ‘Tom…’

::Warning. Oxygen level at one hundred four millibars::

“Tom, come on, open your eyes.” B’Elanna’s voice came to him through the dream, gentle but insistent. 

::Warning. Oxygen level at eighty seven millibars::

He woke, groggy, and forgot and inhaled a lungful of air. “I was having a dream,” he said. He wanted to tell her about it, wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked in the dress with her hair long and curling. 

She was staring at him intently, her gaze steady. “There's something I have to say.”

Tom smiled. “Me too.” He stared at her face: the high curve of her cheekbones, her enchanting forehead ridges that he would never get to kiss now, her full soft lips that he ached to kiss again. “I'm glad the last thing I'll see is you,” he said, and he was suddenly afraid that she could hear his heart breaking in his voice.

She looked away, looked back. “I've been a coward about everything,” she confessed. “Everything that really matters.”

Tom shook his head. “Now you're being a little hard on yourself.” He wanted to tell her that the programme didn’t matter. He wanted to apologize for pushing her so hard. 

She shook her head. “No, I'm gonna die without a shred of honour, and for the first time in my life that really bothers me. So I have to tell you something. I—”

::Warning. Oxygen level at seventy one millibars::

“I have to tell you the truth.” She looked sad, regretful, and Tom was confused. 

“The truth about what?” He couldn’t imagine a secret she could have been hiding. 

“I...I love you,” she said, and Tom was dumbstruck. “Say something,” she urged. 

So he did. He told her his regret. He told her she’d just broken his heart. “You picked a great time to tell me,” he murmured. 

She sucked a breath, and he watched her gasp, watched her eyes close. She must have slipped into unconsciousness, and he thought he felt her sag into his arms, so he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, felt like he always had. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair, that he wanted another chance. He realized his eyes were closed and he sighed. It would be okay, he decided. It would be okay.

The captain’s voice came over his comm and he thought for a moment that he was dreaming again. “ _Tom, do you read me? Respond._ ”

“We're here,” he answered, and he slipped into sleep.

~~~


	2. 2nd Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter a day until it’s done.

_Had we but world enough, and time,_  
_This coyness, Lady, were no crime._

~ Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress”, 1681

 

~~~

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

Tom woke with a start. When he’d programmed the new alarm he’d thought it sounded amusing, and he was pretty pleased with himself at the time. But he’d had the strangest dream last night and it lingered. The Doc would probably classify it as a classic stress dream, but it had been so long and involved and convoluted, that it seemed real. Tom hoped it wasn’t a portent of the day to come. 

So, okay, he’d been a little stressed trying to come up with the perfect Day of Honor programme for B’Elanna, and he hoped she wouldn’t be too pissed off about the painsticks, but the thought that it could all end in a cataclysmic _ka-boom_ was a bit much. At most, she’d chicken out. Which would be a shame, but there was always next year. In fact, maybe next year they could do it together.

He scrubbed his face with his palms and rolled out of bed. Only one way to find out; he’d best get to it. He hauled off his t-shirt, shoved his boxers down his legs and stepped into the sonic shower. 

He was conscientious while he shaved, taking care to catch all the stubble. He scrutinized his sideburns, and decided he liked the way they came to a point. Despite the dream, he’d slept well, and he didn’t have dark circles under his eyes. He fiddled with his hair, wishing it were just a little longer, but at least it was even this time. He looked good. He was ready. B’Elanna Torres wasn’t going to know what hit her today!

Engineering was its usual hive of activity but he spotted her right away. And if he hadn’t seen her, all he’d have to do was follow the strident tone of her voice as she chewed out Vorik. Tom idly wondered if she’d ever forgiven him, not that it mattered. He’d had his chance. _Shields to full power_ he thought as he walked toward her. 

The air held the distinct tang of plasma coolant. 

Vorik was trailing her like a puppy. “That would give us greater control over the pressure valve emissions.”

B’Elanna was obviously not in any mood for his helpful suggestions. “You're probably right, and tomorrow we can do it first thing. But not today.”

“I don't understand,” Vorik pressed. “Why wait until tomorrow? Today would be a much better—”

“Not today, Vorik!” 

Tom assumed a practiced smile. “Good morning,” he sang. “Here's the helm control evaluation you wanted.”

She eyed it a moment before she took it from him, then set down without looking at it. “Thank you.”

Ahhh...he loved prickly B’Elanna. “We still on for dinner tonight?”

“I may have to work,” she said. “I'll let you know.”

Suddenly, he felt dismissed. “Ah-ha. Okay.” Time to change tacks. “Have you decided if you're, if you're going through with it?” She’d better, after all the work he’d put into the programme. 

“I have, and I'm not. Today hasn't started out very well, and the last thing I need is to get involved with some obscure Klingon ritual.”

Tom stared at her a moment. She was the one who’d suggested it! And he’d spent hours of his off time working on that programme. He felt a wash of irritation and he bit back a retort. 

B’Elanna read the expression on his face and squared her shoulders. “I overslept this morning because I forgot to tell the computer to wake me, and then the acoustic inverter in my sonic shower blew out.”

“That'll make your hair stand on end,” Tom winced. He paused. That sounded familiar. Hadn’t her sonic shower blown out last week? “Maybe you should get a competent engineer to fix it,” he teased. 

She scowled at him and he resisted the urge to take a step back. “Two of my people are out sick so I had to cancel the fuel cell overhaul, and then an injector burst for no apparent reason and started spewing plasma coolant—”

“I noticed,” Tom grinned. “That's a run of bad luck all right.”

“So I am in a bad mood, and I know that I am being a little bit testy.”

“That's okay,” Tom said, holding up a hand, palm out. “Want to get some breakfast?” She pressed her lips into a thin, tight line and stared at him. That would be a no. “Remember, you promised me dinner tonight,” he reminded her. 

“I’ll have to see,” she hedged. ”With the way things are going around here…”

Tom frowned. “You know, I had the weirdest dream last night,” he began. 

“B’Elanna,” Chakotay appeared beside them. He nodded at Tom, then addressed the engineer. “I’d like a word,” he said pointedly. 

Tom nodded and took a step back. “Think about that dinner,” he said.

With that, he turned to go. “Be careful,” he murmured to Chakotay, and caught B’Elanna’s glare. He had to figure out some way to change her mind, some way to convince her to go through with the programme. He’d spent hours researching the Day of Honor, and more hours creating the holoprogramme. And it was fantastic, if did say so himself. He’d wanted to show off to her, not just his programming skills, but to show her that he took it seriously, that he was serious about her. 

He was caught up in his musings and almost walked into Chell and Jarvin as he turned the corner to the ‘lift. 

“A tachyon walks into a bar!” Chell pronounced, pleased with himself. Tom frowned. Apparently that was Chell’s joke of the week.

Harry was waiting in the messhall, digging into a plate of leftover pleeka rind casserole. Tom picked up a bowl of porridge, nodded his thanks to Neelix, and joined him. “Hey, Harry, what’s new?” 

“Since last night? Not a lot,” Harry answered. He lifted a forkful of tubers and fruit to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “You ever notice how one day sort of bleeds into the next? Same routine, same conversations. Unless we’re being attacked by some hostile alien, it’s hard to distinguish one day’s events from another.” 

“What?!” Tom asked with exaggerated incredulity. “You’re in Starfleet, Harry, on a state of the art ship, wandering the unknowns of the Delta Quadrant! Every day a new opportunity for exploration and adventure.”

“So why do they all feel the same?” Harry asked. 

“Well,” Tom gestured to his plate, “it might help if you weren’t eating last night’s dinner for breakfast.”

“Speaks the man who’s had the same breakfast four days in a row,” Harry observed. 

Tom just grinned. “I’ve been saving my rations,” he confided.

Harry’s face brightened, and he looked at his friend with a conspirator’s gleam in his eye. “This hoarding wouldn’t have anything to do with our chief engineer, would it?” 

“Now, that would be telling,” Tom quipped, “and I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Well, good luck,” Harry replied. “According to Chapman and Doyle, she’s pretty cranky this morning.”

Tom shrugged. “Like you said, every day like the last.” 

Harry wagged a finger at him. “Be careful, Tom,” he cautioned, “you don’t want that comment getting back to her. There’s no telling what she’ll do to you.”

“She doesn’t scare me,” he grinned. “Her bark’s worse than her bite.” And he should know. 

They were still laughing and goofing around when they dropped their dishes at the kitchen counter and headed to the bridge. Tom felt a good mood settle over him, felt the hopeful, happy stirrings of optimism. Today was going to be a good day to live…

~~

The man on the viewscreen was rumpled and dirty, and Tom recognized the first inkling of awareness flit across his skin. He had the distinct feeling of déjà vu, and he looked around the bridge, confused. Harry raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I want to assure you, my people were once proud and accomplished,” the alien said. He looked contrite, as if his poverty were something shameful. 

“I understand,” Janeway replied. Tom could hear the compassion in her voice.

“It pains me to have to ask this, but I have eighty-eight people to care for on this vessel,” the alien, Rahmin, continued. “We need food, medicines. Is there any way you could help us?”

Tom felt a curl of unease in his gut. This was familiar, too familiar. He remembered his dream: the accident with the warp core, the shuttle exploding, floating in space with B’Elanna. He shook his head. Was it possible that they’d experienced it all before, in some parallel universe? He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at Harry. It had been forever since he’d thought about that incident, since he’d even remembered that Harry and Naomi Wildman had crossed over from a duplicate _Voyager_. Had been longer than that since it had mattered to him. 

“I think we can arrange that,” the captain was saying. “I'll speak to my engineer.”

Should he warn B’Elanna, Tom wondered. Warn her of what? That some rag-tag refugees from the Borg were going to steal her warp core? She’d laugh at him, and tell him he should see the doctor, that he wasn’t right in the head if he thought he was having prophetic dreams. 

“You can't imagine what this means to us, Captain. Thank you.” He was simpering his thanks and Tom felt his hackles rise. He was better than this, he knew better. This alien was a man, a person, even if he didn’t look precisely humanoid. Tom needed to remember that and view him that way. 

~~ 

When Baytart relieved him for lunch, Tom headed directly to the holodeck. He hoped B’Elanna had changed her mind and was using the programme. He wanted to be able to discuss it with her, hoped she’d compliment him on the work he’d put in, the research he’d done. He hoped it would help her come to terms with her Klingon ancestry. 

It was occupied, and a quick check told him the programme was running. He grinned, but a prickle of unease nagged him. He glanced around as he stepped inside, and smiled at his creation. He’d entered into a wide tunnel carved from solid rock, the walls and ceiling jagged and rough. There were torches every few meters attached to the wall, and they gave off a low yellow flame and oily smoke which pooled around the low ceiling. There was a haze in the air, and Tom coughed. Maybe he’d gone a little overboard on the torches. He heard a deep voice farther along the tunnel, but it was too far away for him to make out what was said. 

Then he heard B’Elanna scream! 

He ran down the tunnel and took the corner at full speed, bouncing off the opposite wall. B’Elanna was in a cavern, five meters away, being held by two burly Klingon warriors while a third stood in front of her. He gestured toward her, and she gasped and bucked against the men restraining her. 

“Hey!” Tom shouted. 

The warriors turned toward him, and B’Elanna used the distraction he provided to break away from their grip on her arms. She elbowed one in the gut, then spun and hit him under the chin with the heel of her hand. Tom rushed at the burly warrior with the, damnit, painsticks, and hit him in the chest. It was like punching a tree. By now, B’Elanna had flattened one of her assailants, and was working on the other, her arms arcing around, sending a double-fisted punch into the side of his head. 

Tom’s foe raised the painstick, and Tom’s eyes went round. When he’d programmed… And it hit him. “Computer,” he called, “freeze program!”

The Klingon warriors froze, one on the ground, one halfway to falling there. The big, mean-looking one in front of him just stood there silently looking menacing, and glared.

Tom sidestepped him and reached for B’Elanna. “Are you okay?” he asked. She had blood on her mouth, and she was rumpled, her hair messy and tangled. She was half bent over, gasping for breath. “B’Elanna?” He dipped his head and looked into her eyes.

She glared at him and straightened, throwing her arms up to shake off his hands. “Get off of me!” she shouted.

“B’Elanna, I’m sorry,” he began. “I thought—”

“You thought what?” she snarled. “You thought this was some joke? You thought you’d make it into some parody of Klingon customs? Did you have a good laugh?!” She pushed past him, heading toward the tunnel that led to the holodeck doors. 

Tom lunged after her and grabbed for her arm. “B’Elanna, wait!” She swung around to face him and tried to pull away, but he held on. “I worked hard on this programme,” he said, his own anger rising to meet hers. “I researched the Day of Honor, and I tried to make it _authentic_ , not some mockery of the ritual. I know this is important to you.”

She yanked her arm away. There was scorn in her eyes. “Important? It’s… ridiculous! It’s meaningless posturing. Honor, dishonor, none of it matters!”

“Of course it matters,” Tom shot back. “It’s part of who you are. It’s part of your heritage, your history.”

“Well, I don’t want anything to do with it!”

He understood that she was angry, and he was mortified that his programme had hurt her. When he’d included the painsticks, he hadn’t given a thought to the fact that they might actually _hurt_. “B’Elanna you’re half Klingon. You can’t run away from that! You can’t run away from the blood in your veins.” 

“Who are you to tell me that, Paris?” she spat. 

Tom felt her words like a knife in the gut. It left him a little breathless. “I’m someone who cares about you,” he answered. He clenched his jaw, raised his head a little as his pride roared forward to defend him. “But if you're going to keep pushing me away then there's no point in my staying around, is there?

“Fine!” she shouted. “Go! Just leave me alone.”

“Oh, I will. Have fun being on your own.” And he brushed past her and stormed out. 

~~

_This can’t be real,_ Tom thought. _Maybe I’m still dreaming._

They were going to attempt to open a subspace conduit, and Seven was going to help them. He fought the urge to tell the captain not to try it, to warn her that it wouldn’t work. But he had no proof, and he’d sound like a lunatic, at least until the warp core threatened to breach and B’Elanna had to dump it. He glanced at her, in her usual spot beside Chakotay, across the table from him. She was stating her case calmly, for her at least, but he could sense her rising agitation because the captain wasn’t listening. 

“Even if we can open a conduit—and that’s a big if—we don’t know what we’ll find in there. We may open it only to have a Borg cube fly out!” She glared at Seven, and Tom glanced at Janeway. Her expression was calm, but she was close enough to him that he could see the tightening of her mouth, the little squint lines at the corners of her eyes. It was time for B’Elanna to back down. 

“We have no guarantees that we can open a conduit at all, B’Elanna,” she reminded her. “And if we do, we’re only going to take a look. We won’t do anything rash today.” She turned toward Tom with a small sigh. “Tom, you, Harry, and Seven go to astrometrics. See what you can do about plotting a course home, just in case this works.”

Tom stiffened and sat straighter in his seat. “Captain, I—”

“Your astrometrics lab is—” 

He and Seven spoke at the same time. He nodded at her to continue. He really didn’t know what he would have said, anyway. 

“...is primitive and outmoded. It requires updating. Borg technology would vastly improve your chances of navigating a transwarp corridor, if you manage to open one.”

“ _Our chances_ , Seven,” Janeway admonished. “And that sounds like a project for another day.”

“I disagree,” Seven argued. “Improving the astrometrics lab now would aid...us in plotting a course to the Alpha Quadrant and—”

“Your objection is noted, Seven. But we’ll try it my way first.” She turned back to B’Elanna and looked pointedly at her. “We’re not going anywhere for now: we’re just going to see what happens. Dismissed.”

~~

They were as ready as they could be, given the circumstances, and Tom was frantically running scenarios through his mind, hoping to figure out a way to avoid the breach. Increase warp speed? Decrease warp speed? If only he could remember, but the details were gone. He just knew that something had gone wrong and the core had been flooded with tachyons. 

“When we open a transwarp conduit you will have no idea what you are doing. If we attempt to enter one I will have to take helm control,” Seven advised him. 

Tom snorted. Did she just call him dumb? “I’m a pretty good pilot, you know. And I am a quick study. With a couple of pointers, I bet I could figure it out.”

“What species is that?”

Tom’s head snapped around. Their visitor, the Caatati leader, was moving toward them wholly focused on Seven. 

“She is a human who lived as a Borg. She is disconnected from the collective. She won't harm you.” Tuvok was walking with him, and he caught the alien’s arm in a firm grip as the man attempted to pull away.

“Where's my wife? Where are my children? What did you do with them after you took them? What did you do with my family?”

Tom immediately moved to position himself between Seven and her attacker. The Caatati lunged at Seven and Tom shoved him back. “Hey!”

“Mister Paris, please proceed,” Tuvok ordered, finally succeeding in pulling the man away. 

Seven had just been standing there in the corridor, mutely observing the proceedings. Tom clasped her by the elbow and tugged her down the hall toward the ‘lift. “Sorry about that.” He was shaken, adrenaline still pumping through his system. 

“About what?”

“The way he reacted to you. He tried to attack you.”

“I am uninjured,” she replied, as if that was all that mattered.

“Well, good, but that’s not really the point.”

“There are many people on this ship who have similar feelings towards me, Lieutenant Torres is among them.” She was staring at him coolly, clinically, simply stating a fact. 

And she was right, B’Elanna didn’t like her, didn’t trust her. But with B’Elanna, trust was earned slowly, over years. He should know. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I'm afraid you're right. Does that bother you?”

“No.” She’d taken a moment to think about it before replying, and Tom almost laughed. 

“Well, I'm not going to judge you. We all have a past. What matters is now.” She was every bit a victim of the Borg as that Caatati’s wife and children. 

“I'm uncertain what you're trying to say.”

“Just that I know a little bit about living down your past, and if there's any way I can help you adjust to your life here on _Voyager_ , please ask me.

Seven nodded. “I will remember your offer.”

Of course she would, Tom thought, she was Borg. She had an eidetic memory. There was likely no way she could forget. 

~~ 

“We're only going to take a peek,” B’Elanna repeated. “We open a conduit, get as much sensor data as we can, then close it up. I want to take this one step at a time.”

Tom had the sick sensation of time slipping away from him. He’d been hoping that a plan would pop into his head fully formed but so far no luck. They’d need to be travelling past warp two, but how much past? And would it even make a difference? How could he sabotage the test so the subspace field wouldn’t open? Or was the trigger something else? He just didn’t know. 

B’Elanna glanced toward him and caught him staring at her. She looked away, straightened her shoulders and looked back. Tom hated that she thought she had to put on armour to face him. He had to fix this!

“Take us past—” she began.

“I know. Past warp two.” He tapped a series of commands on his console. “We're at warp two point five.”

She turned away from him. “All right. Vorik, start emitting the tachyons.” 

“No indication of a subspace field. I recommend switching to a higher energy band.” 

Seven’s cool, aloof tone only served to ratchet up Tom’s stress levels. His voice was quiet. “It’s working. That must be it.” 

“The subspace field is forming,” Seven advised them. 

Suddenly B’Elanna called out a warning. “Tachyon particles are leaking into the propulsion system!” She hurried to Seven’s station and shoved her aside.

“Shut down the deflector!” Tom shouted. It was happening again and he couldn’t stop it. What hadn’t they done before? What hadn’t they tried? He couldn’t remember. It was frustrating; he only remembered the particulars as they were happening.

“Done. But the leak is continuing,” Vorik said. 

The captain hailed engineering, and Tom knew that there was nothing he could do now to stop events from unfolding as they had before. If that had been a prophetic dream, it hadn’t told him anything. He stepped away from his console and moved to stand beside B’Elanna. “You have to eject the core.” 

She stared at him like he’d lost his mind! “The tachyons are flooding the warp core, Captain. We’re trying to lock it down.”

“I've cut all power relays,” Vorik said, “but the tachyon levels are still rising.”

“B’Elanna, you have to clear engineering.” Tom had wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, forced her to stand still and listen to him. Look at him. “The core will breach.” Her body was stiff, and he could sense her conflict. Dumping the core meant acknowledging that she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t fix it. Finally, she nodded.

“He’s right. Everybody out. Seven, you too, that’s an order!”

He turned to follow her fleeing staff but, of course, she stayed put. “B’Elanna, come on!”

“I just want to try one more thing.”

Of course she did. And one more thing after that. Any time he’d thought he might have gained by dumping the core a little earlier was being eaten away by arguing with her.

“I’m going to try decoupling the dilithium matrix.” 

“It won’t work,” Tom repeated. He grabbed her by the waist and tugged her away from the console. “Come on.” 

“Just let me try—”

“Now, B’Elanna!” He shifted his grip to her arm and started to drag her toward the door. 

She nodded, finally, and ran out after him. “Computer, prepare to eject the warp core, authorisation Torres omega phi nine three.” 

They ran through the doors and slammed their backs against the bulkhead. Her staff milled around in the corridor, and Tom wondered if they knew what was about to happen, if it was as hard on them as it was on their chief. 

“Computer, eject the core!” She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. “Welcome to the worst day of my life,” she said softly. 

“ _Damn._ ” Janeway’s reply came over B’Elanna’s combadge.

It was all Tom could do not to reach for her, not to take her in his arms. He had to figure out how to fix this; there had to be a way. 

“B’Elanna.” He squatted beside her. “Let’s go get your core.” She kept her face turned away from him for a moment, obviously trying to get herself under control. He lost the battle with his conscience and reached out a hand and brushed her knee with his fingers. “B’Elanna?”

She jerked her head up and their eyes met. He smiled, and she nodded, then accepted his hand as he pulled her to her feet. _Some guys give flowers,_ Tom thought. _I’m going to give the girl of my dreams a warp core._

It didn’t take the captain long to reach engineering, but by the time she’d arrived, B’Elanna had assessed some of the damage to _Voyager’s_ major systems and assigned Vorik and Nicoletti to getting the impulse engines back online. The captain strode into engineering in that way she had that always made Tom think of a warrior queen storming a battlefield. 

“Report.”

“We're stopped dead,” B’Elanna said. “The warp core is millions of kilometres away by now and the impulse engines are seriously damaged. I can give you a few thrusters, but that's about it.”

“How long before I can have impulse power?” 

B’Elanna shook her head. “I can't give you an estimate on that. We're still assessing the damage.” She propped her fists on her hips and assumed her fighting stance. “So much for opening a transwarp conduit. I sent the Borg back to her alcove. We won't be needing her in here anymore.”

Tom watched Janeway’s jaw tighten. It was obvious that B’Elanna didn’t trust Seven, but her dislike went deeper than that. Tom wasn’t sure why, but it was equally obvious that B’Elanna’s disdain was pissing off the captain. 

“At least the core is still intact. Tom, take a shuttle and find it. See if you can tractor it back to Voyager.”

“Already on it, Captain. The _Cochrane_ is being prepped as we speak.” He looked at B’Elanna. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, and they turned to go, but Janeway put up a hand and touched Tom’s chest. “Do whatever you have to, Tom, just get it back here in one piece.”

“We will, Captain.” He nodded, then hurried out. He understood. Without the warp core, their journey was over. Without the core, they’d become the Caatati: refugees, searching for a home and whatever handouts they could beg from passing ships. 

~~ 

“If we get this core back, I'm going right to bed and sleeping straight through till tomorrow. Get this day over with.”

“I think I’ll join you,” Tom sighed. 

She shot him a quizzical look, obviously debating whether or not he meant he’d join her in her bed, and if she should be offended by that comment. He kept his gaze studiously foreword even though he’d rather be watching her. She was hunched in her seat, with one leg drawn up, her arms wrapped around it, her cheek resting on her knee. He could see her face from the corner of his eye; she looked pensive. 

“Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm asking for this trouble somehow.”

“I’m not sure it works that way.” He hoped it didn’t work that way. “It’s probably just a streak of bad luck.” A blip on sensors caught his eye. “I’ve found the core.”

B’Elanna sat forward, instantly alert. “There's something else out there. A ship. According to sensors it has the same energy signature as the Caatati ships.”

“I see it.” Tom nodded. “They're trying to put a tractor beam on it.” His jaw clenched. Not again, he prayed. He’d been hoping that they would get there first, that they’d had enough of a head start to stake their claim before the Caatati showed up. Apparently not. “This is the shuttle _Cochrane_ to the Caatati vessel. Please respond.”

“Don't come any closer. We're performing a salvage operation.” Tom recognized the voice of the Caatati leader. 

“You have to stop what you’re doing immediately. The core is highly unstable.” B’Elanna’s voice rose in alarm.

“Plus, it’s ours!” Tom added.

“I'm afraid we got here first. Don't interfere or we'll open fire.”

“If you try to tractor it like that you could cause an antimatter explosion,” B’Elanna warned.

“Damnit! They're not answering.” That feeling of being sucked down a rabbit hole was back. 

“Idiots! I'm going to try and disrupt their tractor beam.” She stood and moved toward the science station behind her seat. 

“Wait!” Tom threw a hand backwards trying to catch her arm. “Don’t!” She wasn’t listening to him, of course. Her hands flew over the engineering station console. Before Tom could stand and move toward her, she’d sent a stream of energy toward their tractor beam.

“It’s working,” she said. 

The shuttle rocked suddenly, and Tom’s stomach fell to his feet. No. No. No.

“They sent an antimatter pulse back through our particle beam—” B’Elanna began. 

::Warning. Structural integrity field has been compromised. Now at fifty three percent and falling. Hull breach in two minutes twenty seconds::

“Reroute power from the propulsion and weapons systems.”

It wouldn’t work. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he tried anyway.

::Warning. Hull breach in two minutes ten seconds::

Tom shook his head. “No effect. B’Elanna—” 

::Warning. Structural integrity field has collapsed. Hull breach in two minutes::

“We have to get out of here. C’mon.” He pulled on her arm again, and he wondered why she hadn’t hauled off and hit him for manhandling her like that. “We need to put on our EV suits.”

::Warning. Hull breach in one minute fifty seconds::

He handed her a helmet, gloves, boots. “Computer,” he called, “send a distress signal to _Voyager_.” It was worth a try. 

~~

They’d been floating in space for at least an hour repeating the same observations, having the same conversation as last time. It wasn’t a dream, or some weird déjà vu experience, it was really happening. And Tom couldn’t figure out why. Was the temporal loop causing the tachyons to flood the warp core, or was it the other way around? Were the tachyons causing the loop? Maybe on his one hundred and twenty-seventh go ‘round, he’d figure it out.

“I never would have lasted to the third year,” B’Elanna was saying, “If I hadn't dropped out they would have asked me to leave.”

“If I'd known you then, maybe I could have helped you adjust.”

B’Elanna scoffed. “Sure. I can just imagine that: the popular and charming Tom Paris spending time with me. You'd have hated me.”

“Never. I would have been fascinated by you.”

She didn’t look like she believed him. Suddenly, they were buffeted by something, and they were thrown, knocking against each other. Tom gripped her arm to keep from flying away from him. “Ion turbulence,” he said. Shit. How could he have forgotten? 

::Warning. Oxygen level at one hundred fourteen millibars:: 

Tom felt his pulse rate jump, felt a tightening in his chest. “My oxygen supply is leaking.”

::Warning. Oxygen level at ninety three millibars::

“We'll have to share mine.” B’Elanna reached for him and pulled herself closer, anchoring her leg around his. He slid his arm around her back and held her in an awkward embrace. She opened a flap on her chest and pulled out a long tube, then plugged it into a socket on his suit. He would have sworn he felt a rush of cool air. “Are you getting air now?”

“Yes.” Tom tried not to gulp it, tried not to gasp. “That’s much better. Thanks.” He knew what was coming, and if he was any kind of ‘fleet officer, he knew he should have refused her help, should have uncoupled them and floated away, so that she would have a better chance of survival. He was a good pilot, but he’d trained his staff well— _Voyager_ now had lots of good pilots. They only had one chief engineer, and there was no way _Voyager_ would keep flying without her. 

And really, if he was stuck in a temporal loop, it wasn’t such a chivalrous gesture. He might die today, but he’d wake up in his own bed tomorrow. But he was also a selfish bastard so he held her in his arms and wished he could feel her warmth, feel her breath on his skin.

“The turbulence must have damaged my suit too. I should have at least twenty four hours worth of oxygen, but there's only about a half hour's left.” She looked stricken. 

Tom reached for the controls automatically. “I'm lowering the oxygen ratio. That should give us a few more minutes. You might start to feel a little groggy.”

“I...yeah.” He watched her blink, slow and sleepy. 

“I’m sorry, but we have to try to make it last. Try to take shallow breaths.” He wanted to watch her as long as possible, didn’t want to take his eyes off of her, but he felt his eyelids drooping. 

“It's ironic, isn't it?” Her voice was soft and slightly slurred over the comm. 

“What?”

“Today, the Day of Honour, is the day that I'm going to die.”

Tom shook his head. “I won’t let you die. Would you stop talking like that?”

“We have to face up to it, Tom.”

“No we don’t. We have to fight it. We have to stay awake.” He stared at her and he remembered again: she thought he was a stubborn, domineering pig. And she loved him. She’d told him she loved him. This morning, when he’d thought it was a dream, he hadn’t questioned her confession—it was what he wanted more than anything, what he’d longed for for months—and he’d assumed he’d dreamed it. Now he had to know for sure.

“I want to ask you something,” he began. 

“Better hurry then.” Her lips lifted in a smile. He smiled back. 

“Do you think I've changed? From when we first met?”

She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze roving over his face. “A lot. You were…” She paused and glanced away from him. 

“I can take it,” he said.

“You were a pig, Tom. I couldn’t stand you.”

“Don’t hold back,” he quipped.

“But… I was intrigued by you, too. But I knew you weren’t any good for me.”

::Warning. Oxygen level at one hundred four millibars::

“You were probably right,” he agreed. “So, have I changed?” He needed her to say it, just in case two chances were all he got.

“I’m sharing my oxygen with you, aren’t I?” 

She smiled slightly and he watched her eyes close. He pulled her closer and leaned his helmeted head on hers. She was right, if they stopped talking, they would use less oxygen. He thought about when they first met, in the Maquis. Thought about how she was then: angry, defiant, brilliant. Fascinating. He thought about her tight leather pants, and her breasts in that vest, and the boots that had launched a thousand daydreams during his monotonous days and nights in Auckland. He remembered his cramped quarters on Chakotay’s ship, and thought about sharing his tiny bunk with her. Thought about her firm, smooth, cocoa-coloured skin… 

“Tom, come on, open your eyes.” 

He didn’t want to. He wanted to live inside his dream. 

::Warning. Oxygen level at eighty seven millibars::

“There's something I have to say.” 

She was staring at him again, her eyes huge and dark and a little sad. There were stars in her hair. She was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. “Me too. I'm glad the last thing I'll see is you.”

“I've been a coward about everything. Everything that really matters.” He tried to shush her but she shook her head. “I'm gonna die without a shred of honour, and for the first time in my life that really bothers me. So I have to tell you something. I—”

::Warning. Oxygen level at seventy one millibars::

“I have to tell you the truth.”

“You still think I’m a pig?” 

She laughed and shook her head. “No. I… l love you.” 

And the full weight of what he’d lost, what he might never be able to have, fell on him, making him feel burdened and heavy even as he floated, weightless. He hadn’t dreamed it, hadn’t willed it from daydreams and longing. She loved him. And she’d told him too late. 

“Say something,” she implored him.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” he murmured. 

He settled his head against hers again, pulled her as close as he could. He closed his eyes and pictured her sitting across from him in the messhall, a braid in her hair, playing tug-of-war with him over a padd. He smiled, then he slept. 

 

~~


	3. 3rd Waking

_Time goes, you say? Ah, no! Alas, Time stays, we go._

~ Henry Austin Dobson, “The Paradox of Time”, 1886

 

~~~

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

Tom jolted awake and lay still, holding his breath. Maybe if he crossed his fingers and kept his eyes closed for a count of thirty it would be tomorrow when he opened them. “Computer,” he said, his voice almost pleading, “what’s today’s date?”

::The stardate is 51053.8:: the computer replied.

“Of course it is,” he muttered. Why was this happening? What had set it off? Time travel released tachyons, right? Or…loose tachyons caused time travel? Or...something. So it must be the tachyons, which meant that it had something to do with the transwarp test. If he could control the tachyons, he could stop the time loop. But that didn’t explain why it was only happening to him. Or maybe… maybe it was happening to all of them, just in different parallel universes! No, that was too much to contemplate. 

So, what hadn’t he tried? He’d tried flying warp 2.3 and warp 2.5. Maybe they should go faster? Slower? Extra shielding around the core? What would B’Elanna do? What would the captain do? That was it! Maybe he should try talking to the captain. Try warning her. Try talking her out of it. And what would he say? 

He hauled himself out of bed and into the shower. He was careful shaving, careful in the way he combed his hair, made sure his uniform was in place, his boots shined. He wanted to look like the perfect Starfleet officer. He wanted her to take him seriously. 

He shot his cuffs, ran a hand down his chest to his belly, smoothing his uniform jacket. He eyed himself in the mirror critically and nodded. “Here goes nothing.”

She was on the bridge, reading something off the console at her left hand. She was frowning slightly, and didn’t notice him until he was standing next to her. 

“Captain.”

“Tom.” She looked up and smiled at him. “You’re early this morning. Eager to get to the helm?” 

Tom noticed Jenkins glance back at him. “Actually, Captain, I was hoping I could have a word with you.”

“Go ahead.” She crossed her legs and smiled blandly up at him.

“Do you mind if we use your ready room?”

Curiosity flitted across her features, but she didn’t question him. “Of course,” she said with a nod. She rose from her chair and motioned for him to precede her, but he hung back at the door, waiting to follow her inside. He had two older sisters: you didn’t walk into a woman’s inner sanctum unless explicitly invited, and you never went in first!

She crossed to her desk and leaned against it, folded her arms. “What’s this about, Tom?”

He took a breath, still unsure just quite how to begin. “I’ve had…a pretty strange experience and I’m not sure why, but I know it was real.”

She frowned, letting a silence stretch between them. 

“This is going to sound crazy, but I swear to you, it’s really happening.” She raised an eyebrow. “This is the third time I’ve lived this day.”

She was still for a moment, then she smiled, humour flashing in her eyes. She straightened and clapped him on the shoulder. “Very amusing, Tom. Who’s idea was this?” She moved past him, and he turned. 

“No! Captain, this isn’t a joke. I’m serious. It’s happening. I’m caught in some sort of time loop and I don’t know what to do to stop it.”

She stilled. “Continue.”

He took a breath, reminded himself to stay calm. “Today is the Klingon Day of Honor.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been working on a holodeck programme for B’Elanna, so she can go through the ritual, and when I woke up this morning…” He was not going to mention his stupid alarm. “For the last three days, I woke up and it was the Day of Honor. B’Elanna and I even had a fight about the programme two days ago. Two _todays_ ago. I’ve lived this day before, twice, and I don’t want to live it again. I don’t know how, but this is real. It is happening.”

“Tom,” she softened, “I recently had an experience that felt real, too. But it wasn’t. I was under the influence of an alien being who made me believe I was repeating a moment in time.”

He shook his head. “I’m not imagining this, Captain!”

“Okay. You said you wrote a programme, did you try it? Is sounds pretty physical. Did the holodeck safeties malfunction? Were you injured, maybe you hit your head? Maybe the Doct—”

“I don’t need to see the doctor!” He was aware that his volume was rising, knew he couldn’t afford to lose his temper. He took a breath, calmed down. “I need you to believe me.” 

“Convince me.”

There was so much he could say. He could rattle off a list. Start at the beginning. 

“We’re going to intercept a ship of refugees called the Caatati. Their planet was attacked by the Borg a year ago, and there are only a few thousand of them left.”

“The Caatati?” Janeway frowned. “They don’t sound familiar.”

“Well, trust me, we’ll get to know them pretty well. After we give them food and medicines, we’re going to do a test later today. We’ll try to open a transwarp conduit.”

“A transwarp conduit? But that’s…” she shook her head. “Could we really do it? I wonder, would Seven of Nine help us? We could be home next week.”

Tom shook his head. “Captain, something will go wrong. Tachyons will escape and flood the warp core causing it to begin to breach. B’Elanna will have to dump the core.”

Janeway held up her hand to halt his flow of words. “This is...almost too much to believe.”

“That’s what I thought, the first time it happened. But it gets worse. By the time B’Elanna and I find the warp core, the Caatati get there first. They put a tractor beam on it and take it. I don’t know what happens after that, we beam into space just before our shuttle explodes, and they’re gone with the core.”

“Explodes? Tom, this is a fantastic story, but stranger things have happened to us out here.” She was still for a few moments, thinking, deliberating. She looked at him, stared hard. “Let’s say I believe you. I still want the Doctor to check you over. If this is happening to you, it should leave some trace.”

“Like what?” Tom laughed, “gray hairs?”

She smiled. “Maybe eventually. I was thinking more along the lines of a temporal footprint: chroniton particles, tachyons, a chrono distortion somewhere on the ship. We can start by scanning your quarters.”

Tom bit his tongue. He still had time. The Caatati would show up in about half an hour, but they wouldn’t try the transwarp test until after lunch. And by then he’d have proof to back up his claim. 

“Okay.” He nodded. “Fine. I’ll go down now.”

“I’ll go with you. If I don’t, he might think you’re joking.”

~~

“I’ve done a full scan of your brain, and aside from a few miscellaneous bits of old Earth trivia and the owner’s manual to a 1937 Chevy truck, there’s nothing in there that shouldn’t be there.” The Doctor hit the control to collapse the biobed’s arch, then helped Tom to sit. 

“What about the other little problem, Doctor?”

“I scanned for signs of temporal radiation, and found nothing.” He was looking at Tom but obviously addressing the captain. 

“That can’t be right,” Tom argued. 

“ _Seven of Nine to the captain. Report to your ready room._ ”

“Damn,” Janeway said. “I forgot that I told her I wanted to see her. Doctor, I want you to get to the bottom of this.” She slapped her combadge. “I’ll be right there.” She turned to Tom and patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Tom. We’ll figure this out.”

He smiled and caught her eye. “I’m not worried. If you don’t believe me now, you will in about ten minutes, Captain.”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded and headed to the door. The doctor smiled blandly at him, and Tom sensed a shift in his mood. He looked… placating.

“You’ve experienced normal cellular degradation on par with the rest of the crew, lieutenant. Your stress levels are a little high, though,” he said dryly. “Tell me, when did you first realize that you were experiencing this phenomenon?”

“Two days ago.” 

“Ah ha!” The doctor was obviously delighted. “We’ve caught it early!”

Tom felt relief wash over him like a physical thing. “So you believe me? Did you figure it out?” He sighed. “Caught what early?” 

“Why, your feelings of inadequacy, of hopelessness. Do you feel there’s no point to it all? Life’s daily grind is just not worth it? Each day unwinding, unabated, an endless circle of meaningless tasks. After three years in the Delta Quadrant, cut off from friends and family with only each other to rely upon, frankly I’m surprised the entire crew isn’t suffering from the same delusions.”

“Doc, wait, what are you talk—”

“But rest assured, Mister Paris, I can help you. I’ve recently enhanced myself with psychological subroutines. Since the ship is missing its counsellor, I felt I was best qualified to fill the role. Or rather, I was in the best position to become qualified to fill the role.”

Tom jumped off the biobed. “Doc, I am not crazy.” He took a step, but the doctor placed a restraining hand on his chest.

“Hold on, there. We’re not done. We haven’t even started.”

“I think I’m going to be needed on the bridge any minute now.”

The chirp of Tom’s combadge underlined his statement. “ _Janeway to Lieutenant Paris._ ”

“Paris here, Captain. Have our guests arrived?”

“ _They have, just as you said._ ”

“I hope you gave my regards to Rahmin,” Tom quipped. 

There was a pause, then Janeway replied with a terse, “ _Please report to the briefing room_.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tom sobered. “Sorry, Doc. You’ll have to get inside my head another time.”

He strode quickly out of sickbay and called for the ‘lift. It had only been two days but it felt like an eternity. He was inordinately glad that he’d stopped the loop, though, if he were honest, he appreciated the heads-up about B’Elanna’s feelings for him. He had hoped but she played it close to the vest, afraid of being hurt or ridiculed. He had to wonder, if they hadn’t almost died from lack of oxygen, would she ever have told him how she felt about him? 

B’Elanna was in the turbolift on her way to deck two when the doors slid open to admit Tom. Before he stepped in, he paused for a fraction of a second when he saw her. It was as if he’d conjured her, and a slow smile stretched across his mouth. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders hunched. She had a scowl on her face, and her head was tilted to the right as she surveyed him. There was a faint tang of plasma coolant in the air. 

“Gooood morning!” Tom gave her a wide smile. 

She squinted at him, and her nose wrinkled adorably. “Good morning. Deck five? Are you alright?” 

Confusion rippled over Tom’s features. “Ye-es?” 

“Good. That’s good to hear. Because I was afraid you were sick or something.”

“Nooo.” Confusion around women wasn’t a new phenomenon for him. 

“Well,” she gestured to the ‘lift doors. “You are getting on at sickbay.”

“Oh,” Tom nodded. “No. That was a misunderstanding.” Happiness washed over him: she was worried about him. She cared. _Of course she cares, she loves you, remember_?

“I see.” It was clear she didn’t. She deliberately, exaggeratedly, looked him up and down. “So, where’s my helm evaluation?”

“Ohh, you won’t need that today.” Tom sent her a confidant smile that quickly slid off his face. “Unless… unless you will because I did just fixed it.”

“You _fixed_ the helm? What was wrong with it? Forgive me, Tom,” she scoffed. “I mean, you can tinker with a shuttle but you’re no engineer. I need to call someone to check it, and we need to come to a full stop!” She brought her hand up but Tom grabbed it before she could tap her combadge. He was tempted to hang on. 

“No. I might have fixed something else that was broken.”

“Oh. Okay.” She peered at him with a slight frown. “I mean, you're great with isolinear chips, but…”

Tom brought his hand to his heart. “On my honor as an officer and a gentleman, I would never even attempt to repair the helm without your direct supervision, Lieutenant.” He grinned and watched as her eyes narrowed. _So suspicious of his motives._

“Honor, huh? Don’t start.”

Oh yeah. Tom sobered. “Have you decided if you’re going through with it?”

“I have and I’m not.”

Not a surprise. Then again, she did the programme on the first today after vowing she wouldn’t. _And look how that turned out!_ But that didn’t guarantee that she would try it this time around. The lift doors opened again and they stepped out. 

“Let me know if you change your mind,” he said. “I can do it with you.”

She drew back a bit, clearly surprised. “Why would you want to?”

“Because it’s important to you.” He’d stopped just before the door to the briefing room and looked at her, really looked at her, hoping she would understand what he was trying to convey. That she was important to him. She glanced away.

Chakotay appeared behind them. “Are you two joining us?”

“Of course,” B’Elanna murmured, ducking into the room. She settled into her usual seat beside Chakotay, across from Tom. The captain was standing at the head of the table looking for all the world like she’d prefer to pace. Tom knew the feeling. He felt a nervous energy, and clamped it down. She caught his gaze and nodded. 

“Firstly, how’s the thorium isotope production going, B’Elanna?”

“Vorik is working on it. We should have what they need by early this afternoon. Maybe sooner.”

“Good.” Janeway nodded. “Tom has a tale to tell, but let me start by saying that I believe him. He told me about the Caatati about a half hour before they arrived. Tom?” 

She sent him a pointed look, and Tom straightened in his chair. “Two days ago I woke up and it was today. I’m stuck in a time loop.”

Chakotay leaned toward him across the table. “Forgive me, Tom, but this is hard to believe.” He glanced at the captain and she waved her hand at Tom. 

“I do have proof, though if I’ve stopped the loop, none of it will happen.” He shrugged and looked at B’Elanna. Her brows were drawn together in a frown, and her mouth had opened as if she were hesitant to ask a question. 

“You were in sickbay,” she stated. 

“And the doc couldn’t find any physical evidence.” Tom nodded.

“Tachyons. Chell’s stupid joke.”

Tom grinned, and she shook her head, obviously having a hard time believing him. “You overslept this morning because you forgot to tell the computer to wake you. The acoustic inverter in your sonic shower went out, and by the time you fixed it you were late, so you didn’t have time for breakfast. Plus, two of your staff are out sick so you had to cancel a fuel cell overhall you had planned. Then an injector burst for no apparent reason and started spewing plasma coolant. Oh, and Vorik has an idea to reconfigure the coolant assembly. It would give you greater control over the pressure valve emissions.”

Her eyes had gone round, and he read the shock in her expression. _Just wait,_ he thought. He turned to Seven. “You want to work in engineering.” To Chakotay, “You had an idea to try to open a Borg transwarp conduit, which, as it turns out...will turn out...is a really bad idea.”

“Why?” Chakotay’s tone was measured, and Tom knew he believed him now. “Because something goes wrong. Tachyons flood the warp core and trigger a breach. We can’t stop it and we have to dump the core.” He glanced at B’Elanna and noted her pained expression. “By the time B’Elanna and I take a shuttle and find it, the Caatati have a tractor beam on it.”

B’Elanna had been leaning toward him, listening, but at this she drew back. “That’s insane! It’s incredibly dangerous to try to tractor an unstable warp core!”

“That’s what you tell them.” He sighed. “We try to disrupt their tractor beam, but they send out a pulse. It causes an overload and damages the shuttle. We have just enough time to get into our EV suits and beam out before the _Cochran_ explodes.”

“This sounds incredible.”

“I know,” Tom nodded agreement at Chakotay. “And if I hadn’t lived it twice already, I would think it was all just a strange dream.” 

“So what happens?” Harry spoke up for the first time. 

Tom shook his head. “With the Caatati? I don’t know. _Voyager_ finds us just before our oxygen runs out.” He addressed this to B’Elanna and watched as her eyes widened in alarm.

“But there should be at least twenty-four hours of oxygen in those suits! Why does it take so long? Is _Voyager_ damaged? Why don’t they send a shuttle after us?”

All good questions he’d never thought to ask. “I dunno. I’m floating in space.” He stared at her, remembering her confession at the moment she thought she was going to die. He felt an overpowering urge to take her in his arms and hold her tight. He swallowed. “I pass out before we’re beamed aboard and I wake up in my quarters and it’s today again. I don’t know if we ever get the core back or not.”

The end of his story was greeted with silence, then Harry piped up. “That’s a run of bad luck.”

Tom chuffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

“So, how can we change it?” Chakotay asked. 

“I’m hoping I already have.” He looked at Janeway. “If we limit the Caatati’s access to the ship, that might mediate their response. We give them supplies, food and medicines, but when they take the core knowing that we need it to power our ship… ” He shook his head. 

“It shows that they want more than we gave them,” Janeway finished. “So, instead of bringing Rahmin onto _Voyager_ I keep communication limited to subspace.”

“I would.”

Janeway smiled at Tom. “Aye, Captain,” she said. She glanced around the table. “Any comments?” 

“The Caatati. A technologically advanced race capable of warp drive, population of six million, three hundred and fifty-seven thousand, seven hundred and forty-six.”

“Plus a couple of thousand,” Tom added. “Oh, Captain! I’d keep Seven out of sight if I were you. Rahmin sees her and he’s very upset to discover we’re harbouring a Borg on the ship.”

“Noted.” She inclined her head. “You were saying, Seven of Nine? You know,” she paused, “Tom’s right; that is a mouthful. How about we call you Seven? Or, if you’d prefer, we can use your given name, Annika.” 

She blinked. “Seven is imprecise but acceptable. Shall I continue?” At Janeway’s nod, she said, “The Caatati were assimilated on Stardate 50138.2.”

“About a year ago,” Harry said.

“Yes. We were unaware that any of them evaded assimilation.”

“Not so perfect after all,” B’Elanna muttered. 

“We?” Harry asked. “Were you there?”

It was a good question, but Janeway interrupted before Seven could answer. “That’s not important. What was their civilization like? Were they peaceful? Warriors? Scientists?”

“They were technologically advanced. They lived in communities of family groups, much like humans. They were as peaceful or as warlike as any member of your...our...the Federation of Planets.”

“Okay. Thank you, Seven. Well, I think we should follow Tom’s advice: limit the Caatati’s exposure to _Voyager_ and our technology, and avoid trying that transwarp test, at least until we’re clear of this area of space. B’Elanna,” she turned and addressed her, “let me know when the thorium is ready. The rest of you, dismissed.”

As they all stood, Tom tried to catch B’Elanna’s eye but she avoided him, slipping behind Chakotay and out the door that lead to the corridor, instead of the one to the bridge. He wondered what she was thinking about. Was she dwelling on the loss of the core, was she contemplating their final moments, drifting in space? What they might have discussed, what she might have said? And if so, did she realize what she had told him? And, a new thought struck him and made him suddenly cold, had she actually meant the words, or was she only saying them to make him feel better before they died? 

He stared at the spot where she’d been and almost—almost—wished he hadn’t said anything to the captain. He almost wished he’d let events play out so that he could ask her, so that he could tell her first and see what she said. See how she responded. There was time. They could talk at lunch or, if she was too busy, there was always dinner tonight. At that thought, Tom’s mood brightened. Good food, better wine, with B’Elanna in a little French bistro. He could hardly wait.

~~

The thorium had been delivered. Neelix had checked the fresh food stores and offered information about _Voyager’s_ airponics bay. He had also freed up a supply of ‘fleet rations ( _Serves them right,_ Tom thought, though he did feel for the children). The doctor had replicated medicines, and Janeway had even offered blankets. The Caatati had been well looked after, and all without setting foot on _Voyager_. Tom had an inkling that she was ruminating on that Borg transwarp conduit, and wasn’t surprised when she tapped her combadge and called for Seven on the way to her ready room. 

Tom had been thinking about B’Elanna, wondering what she thought of all this. Wondering, too, if she had decided to do the programme. If she hadn’t, maybe he could talk her into it. He wasn’t averse to having his own honor tested, he decided. Baytart tapped him on the shoulder, ready to relieve him for lunch. He gave him a quick rundown on the specs just in case he’d lost the ability to comprehend the readouts on the helm console. 

Harry was waiting for him at the turbolift and Tom had an urge to tell him he’d meet him in the mess. Instead, he shot him a smile as he joined him and called for deck two. 

“So,” Harry began, “what else happens?”

Tom squinted and gave his head a quick shake. “What do you mean, Harry?” He was stalling, unsure what Harry wanted to know.

“Does the transwarp test work? Do we open a conduit?”

Of course. Harry wanted to know because he still wanted to get home. Still wanted to get to the Alpha Quadrant. Tom suddenly realized he didn’t care. Sure, it would be nice to see some old friends, to see his mother and sisters, see if his father’s opinion of him would change if he knew how well Tom had performed on _Voyager_. It would be nice, but it wasn’t necessary any longer. The captain respected him, believed him. And B’Elanna loved him. 

He was home. 

He felt warm and light and happy for the first time in weeks. He almost grinned, but one look at Harry’s hopeful expression sobered him. “We only tried twice and both times failed. I’m sure the captain will want to look into it, and I can tell her what I remember.”

Harry nodded, looking glum. The doors opened on deck two and Tom quick-walked to the mess. 

“In a hurry?” Harry asked.

“Hungry.” 

A quick glance told him what he already knew, she wasn’t there. Chell was, though. 

“—erve tachyons in here…wait for it…” He was grinning hugely at Neelix and Samantha Wildman, and Tom stepped up beside Sam and waited patiently for the punchline. He was soon rewarded. “A tachyon walks into a bar!”

Chell exploded with laughter. Sam chuckled politely, but Neelix just looked confused. Harry groaned. Tom patted Chell on the shoulder. “Good one. I’ve never heard that one before,” he said. 

Chell preened a bit and moved off, lunch tray in hand. “I don’t understand,” Neelix said. 

“Loose tachyons are a sign of a temporal anomaly, Neelix. The joke is that the punchline is said first because it arrives before the set up line of the joke because of…”

“Time travel,” Tom supplied. He shrugged. He actually thought it was pretty clever. He leaned conspiratorially over the counter. “Have you seen B’Elanna?”

Neelix shook his head. “Not so far. Not for breakfast, either. Though if you see her, let her know I’ve prepared a special dish for her for the Klingon Day of Honor.” 

Tom cringed. “I might hold off on that if I were you, Neelix.”

“Today’s the Day of Honor?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah,” Tom said. “I think… I’ll see you later, Harry.” He strode quickly out of the mess and as soon as he’d rounded the corner toward the ‘lift, he tapped his combadge. “Computer, locate Lieutenant Torres.”

::Lieutenant Torres is in holodeck two, deck six::

Tom grinned. Today was just getting better and better. 

~~

The smoke from the torches stung his eyes and caught in his throat, and he wondered why the ventilation system hadn’t cleared it. Then again, he had set the parameters to ‘smokey haze’, and it wasn’t real smoke anyway. He started along the tunnel, carved out of solid rock, ignoring his handiwork. He knew it looked good, but his prime focus right now was finding B’Elanna. Though… He paused. Maybe she wouldn’t appreciate his walking in on her like this. Of course, she had left the door unlocked. 

He stood, undecided. He heard raised voices from further along the tunnel, and remembered the painsticks, and that decided it for him. He hurried along and burst into a cavern in time to watch B’Elanna take down one opponent with an elbow to the gut followed by a shot to the throat. He hit the cave floor and stopped moving. Unfortunately, the other two advanced on her while she was still trying to catch her breath. 

“Is this how you fight with honor, _petaQ_?” the big mean looking one said. The smaller one came up behind her and grabbed her arms, pulling them behind her back. B’Elanna struggled, but he was stronger than her, and he held on. 

What the hell had Tom been thinking when he programmed them? And why did B’Elanna have blood on her mouth? Weren’t the safeties working properly? “B’Elanna!” he shouted.

The three of them turned to face him, and she took the opportunity to kick back at the one holding her, then twist out of his grip. As Tom rushed forward to help her, she swung a right hook at the smaller—though, really, the word was relative—warrior. Unfortunately, Tom got in the way. He had time to admire her stance, and to wonder if Chakotay had schooled her in boxing, or at least in self-defence, before her fist collided with his cheek, rattling his teeth and snapping his head sideways. He felt pain bloom in his jaw and felt his teeth clack together, felt his brain slosh in his skull, felt a tingling in the tips of his fingers, then blackness crawled across his vision. He didn’t feel it when he hit the cave floor.

~~

“What…?” Tom ached. “Oww.” Everything ached. He was tempted to take an inventory but that required too much thinking and his brain ached, too. 

“Oh good, you’re awake. Welcome back.” The Doctor was standing over him with his usual smug expression. “You’re back in sickbay, in case you were wondering.”

Tom raised a hand to his face and scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What happened?”

“How are you feeling? I heard you may have cracked that thick skull of yours but I didn’t find any evidence of that.” The doctor had whipped out a tricorder and was busy running the wand over Tom’s intact skull. He looked at the display and, satisfied, he snapped it closed and placed it on a tray.

“Computer, what time is it?” Tom ignored him. 

::The time is thirteen hundred hours seven minutes::

“Damnit! It’s going to happen again,” he muttered.

“What is? I can’t help you unless you—”

“Today. Today is going to happen…the core.”

“What about the core? What core? An apple core? The computer core? The core tenants of T'Plana-Hath?”

Tom tried to push himself up to a sitting position, but the Doctor shoved him back down onto the bio bed. “I’m not done with you. If you want me to _not_ think you’re suffering from a concussion, you’re going to have to start making sense.”

“I’ve got to get to engineering.”

“No, you don’t. Maybe I should take another look at your brain.” He reached for his medical tricorder, and Tom caught his arm. 

“Where’s the warp core? Did we get it back?”

“Get it back? I wasn’t aware that we’d lost it! Of course, no one thinks to tell me anything. Lieutenant Torres must be extremely careless if she managed to lose something that big. She’s the one who brought you in here, you know. She said to tell you she’s extremely sorry.”

Tom was more awake now, and his temper was rising. “Why? What happened?Is she okay?”

“Well, I assume so. Why wouldn’t she be? Though, she may be pining for her lost warp core, how am I to know?”

Tom reigned in his temper. “Why am I here, Doc?”

The doctor snapped the medical tricorder closed and put away the wand. “How much do you remember?”

Well, that depended on which _today_ this was… “The Caatati showed up.” The doctor nodded. “And you scanned me for tachyons. Then I went to a meeting of the senior staff.”

“A little out of order, but keep going.”

“I sat my shift on the bridge, and when Baytart relieved me for lunch I went to find B’Elanna. Ohh, the programme,” Tom closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and was rewarded with a sharp pain in his neck. “I must have been hit in the head by an angry Klingon.” He raised a hand a rubbed the side of his head. 

“Yes, you were. When Lieutenant Torres brought you here, I assumed you’d been playing on the holodeck without the safeties on, but she assured me that _she_ was the one who hit you.” At Tom’s expression, he clarified. “Accidentally, of course. She wanted you to know that she’s sorry. She also wanted you to know that she doesn’t need you to fight her battles for her, whatever that means.”

Tom let out a frustrated huff. “Not everything has to be a damned battle,” he muttered. “Look, I’m fine, right? Can you just give me something for the pain and let me go?”

“Fine.” The Doctor turned and prepared a hypo. “But let this be a warning to you not to irritate Lieutenant Torres. And by the way, she didn’t actually apologize for hitting you, I just said that to make you feel better. She must have thought you deserved it.” 

He pressed a hypo to the side of Tom’s throat and Tom felt his headache ease. He hopped down from the biobed. 

“Not so fast. You can leave but I’m not clearing you for duty. I want you to rest, then come see me before you retire for the night.”

“Sure, Doc. Thanks.” Tom strode for the door at a good clip, and when he’d made it to the corridor and the doors had closed behind him, he ran. He wanted to see B’Elanna but, just this once, he wanted to see the warp core more. 

~~

B’Elanna’s staff were scurrying like ants, running back and forth, mission oriented, presumably focused on fixing whatever was wrong. There was definitely something wrong. He spied her through a wisp of vapour, on the other side of the room. She was bent over a console, Vorik, her shadow, assisting her. Tom loped across the room and came up on her right, the better to keep an eye on her fist. “Hi,” he said.

She glanced quickly up at him, then back at her console. “Hi. Vorik, hand me that hydrospanner.” She pointed to her tool kit and Vorik selected a tool and handed it to her. She looked at it and handed it back. “The other one,” she said, her voice clipped. Tom watched him hand it over without so much as batting an eyelash.

“I’m fine, by the way,” he said. She twitched just slightly, then ignored him. “I lost a couple of teeth but that’s okay because I have it on good authority that Neelix plans to serve leola root surprise for dinner and that’s mushy enough that I can gum it.”

The corner of her mouth convulsed, and she handed the ‘spanner back to Vorik as she turned toward Tom. She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him up and down. “Does this mean you’re cancelling our dinner date?”

Tom flashed her a grin that showed all his teeth. “Never.”

“Well, I was hoping for something a little better than leola root surprise.”

“I’ll see what I can do. How about moules marinières with baked pommes frites, crusty country bread and a chilled Sancerre 2337?”

She was trying to frown at him, but Tom could see that a smile was escaping. “Sounds better than blood pie. I didn’t need your help, you know.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when I woke up in sickbay.” 

There was laughter in her eyes. “Painsticks?”

Tom cringed and reached for her. “You have to believe me, I honestly didn’t think they—”

There was a loud _pop_ from across the deck and Tom’s head snapped around. B’Elanna flew past him, and he turned and followed her. She was barking orders, hurrying toward the area that was rapidly filling with noxious gas.

Billowing clouds of coolant had created a haze and the environmental systems hadn’t caught up yet. Tom could taste it on his tongue. It was acrid, with a slightly metallic tang, and made Tom wonder if that’s what licking a warp nacelle would taste like. 

“Nicoletti!” she shouted, “check the flow constrictors.”

“What can I do?” Tom asked, aware that his pulse was pounding loudly in his ears. She pointed to a console on the outer ring of the warp core. 

“Keep an eye on the pressure. Tell me if it spikes.”

He nodded. It was the same console he’d used during the test the last two todays. There was a loud _bang_ as another injector ruptured, followed by more billowing gas. 

“ _Janeway to engineering. What’s going on down there?_ ”

“I’m not sure, Captain. We have a cascade failure in the injector coils. Give me a few minutes.”

“ _If you can't stabilise the core immediately, evacuate engineering._ ”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“I've cut all power relays,” Vorik stated, “but the pressure in the warp core is still rising.”

B’Elanna cursed. “Try decoupling the dilithium matrix.” She had to shout over the whine of escaping warp coolant. 

“No effect,” Vorik said. Tom admired his Vulcan cool. 

“Try it again.”

“B’Elanna,” Tom shouted “It’s not working!” The warp core was a boiling mix of indigo, aqua and white. Tom wasn’t normally given to flights of fancy, but it looked angry to him. Vindictive. 

::Warning. Warp core breach in one minute::

“All right,” she nodded, “everybody out! Now!” Her crew ran toward the exit but Tom stayed put. “That means you as well.”

He turned to her, incredulous, “I’m not leaving you.” He held her gaze for a moment before she nodded. 

“I want to try one more thing.”

Tom shook his head. “You have to eject the core.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “It’s about to breach.”

::Warning. Warp core breach imminent:: 

“One more thing,” she insisted. She pointed to a tool kit abandoned at a console near him. “Hand me the interphasic compensator.”

He pawed through the kit, finally finding the right tool, and ran back to where she was crouched at the base of the core. He handed it to her and stood there, hovering, useless. It occurred to him that maybe time was a living thing, determined to have its way. That just maybe there was no way to prevent events from unfolding exactly as they had before, exactly as they always would.

“B’Elanna, we have to go. We’ll get it back. It’s time.”

::Warning. Warp core breach in ten seconds::

She looked up at him and nodded as she called, “Computer to prepare to eject the core.” 

He hauled her to her feet. He gripped her arms and started to turn toward the doors. He felt her warmth, felt the tension in her lean muscled body. He saw her frustration in her beautiful dark eyes, her defeat. Then he saw a blinding flash of light, felt heat, then nothing.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can have no idea of my absolute joy when, while reading up on the warp core and coolant injectors, memory-alpha.wikia confirmed that a cascade failure in the coolant injectors would lead to a warp core breach. Really, B’Elanna should listen to Vorik.


	4. 4th Waking

_Time! The corrector where our judgements err._

~ Lord Byron, “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”, 1816-18

~~~ 

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

Tom jolted up in bed, his body tensed, his hands fisted in the sheets. He opened his mouth and let loose a Klingon roar! 

“RRRRRAAAAAARRRRGGGHHH!”

Next door, Ensign Fitzpatrick jerked awake. He was working beta shift this week, and he’d sat in an all-night poker game after shift. He’d only fallen asleep a few hours ago. He considered calling security, but when he didn’t hear anything else he rolled over and went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, on to chapter 5 since this was so short.


	5. 5th Waking

_Ah! The clock is always slow; It is later than you think; Sadly later than you think; Far, far later than you think._

~ Robert Service, “It Is Later Than You Think”, 1921

~~~ 

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

Tom groaned. He knew what _she_ was was going to say, but he had to ask anyway. “Computer, is today the Klingon Day of Honor?”

::Affirmative::

Of course it was, what did he expect? He contemplated pulling the covers over his head and staying in bed, or maybe draining his account in an attempt to get drunk on synthahol. Maybe he should chain himself to the forward deflector array and chant, ‘hell no, we won’t go’! Maybe he could talk B’Elanna into refusing the test, could poke the Maquis rebel that lay dormant in her breast. _Don’t think about her breasts!_

He lurched out of bed and headed to the shower. He didn’t linger. He cleaned his teeth, and ran his fingers through his hair; it was too short to worry about anyway. Good enough, he told his reflection. 

He waited at the turbolift, intending to head straight to engineering, and stifled a laugh when the ‘lift doors opened and Chell and Jarvin were inside. They were likely coming from the messhall. Chell smiled hugely when Tom joined them. “Lieutenant, want to hear a joke?”

“Sure,” Tom replied. He hoped it would be a new one. 

“The bartender says, We don’t serve your kind here…wait for it… A—”

“A tachyon walks into a bar.” Tom nodded. Chell looked a little crestfallen, and Tom muttered an apology. 

“You could have stopped me if you’d heard it before.”

“You know,” Tom mused, “I probably couldn’t.”

The doors opened and he followed them into engineering. B’Elanna was hurrying across the room, headed toward a rapidly expanding cloud of warp coolant. 

“Now what?” He heard her yell over the noise. Vorik was crouched in front of a panel, and Tom watched B’Elanna lean over him to stare at the innards of the console. Lucky Vorik.

“There's been a rupture in the coolant injector.”

“I can see that. Why haven't you sealed it off?” Tom stifled a laugh. He tapped B’Elanna on the shoulder and smiled when she glanced at him. She registered him, then looked back at the console just as Vorik stopped the leak. Was it his imagination or did she look a little furtive?

“That’s better,” she said, patting Vorik on the shoulder. She stood and straightened to her full, measly height, and faced Tom. He grinned at her. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she countered. 

“Lieutenant, I have an idea. Perhaps it would be advisable to reconfigure the coolant assembly. That would give us greater control over the pressure valve emissions.”

Tom folded his arms across his chest and looked at the ensign. _Back off, kid_ he wanted to say. _You can have her back in a few minutes._

“Not today.” This was directed at Vorik. She folded her arms to match Tom’s stance and raised her chin. “What are you doing here?” 

“Good morning to you, too.” He smiled.

She tilted her head and gave him an appraising once over. “This is a new look for you.”

He was thrown. “What?”

She reached up and ran the tips of her fingers along his jaw, and Tom felt a zing of electricity run down to the base of his spine. “I’m sure the captain will love it,” she grinned. 

Damn! He’d forgotten to shave. Oh well, his beard was a reddish blonde. Unlike Chakotay or Mike Ayala, in the right light it could be invisible. Maybe the captain wouldn’t notice?

B’Elanna looked him over in an exaggerated motion. “Where’s the helm control evaluation I wanted?”

“I forgot it.” He shrugged. “You don’t need it anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? And why is that?”

“Because you’re going to get talked into doing something crazy and you won’t have time to tinker with the fuel injectors.” 

“I will, will I?” She crossed her arms. “And what crazy thing is this?”

Tom glanced at Vorik, who was still tinkering with the console. He wondered if the young Vulcan was deliberately eavesdropping on them, though, with those ears, he could likely overhear them from across the room. Tom took her arm and tugged her aside. “Chakotay is going to come down here and tell you that we’re going to attempt to open a Borg transwarp conduit.”

“What?!” B’Elanna glanced over her shoulder. Several heads had turned toward them. She grabbed Tom’s arm and pulled him closer to the bulkhead. “Why the hell would we try something like that? The idea is insane!”

Tom realized that he was staring at her. He also realized that he had a stupid smile on his face. He loved it when her eyes flashed like that. He shrugged. “So, tell that to him.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and stared. “You’re making this up. This is some sort of test, some joke for the Day of Honor.”

Tom sighed. “You can think that if you want but just wait a few minutes. You’ll see.” 

She eyed him appraisingly. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“You know, you were right before. Don’t bother with the programme, it’s meaningless.”

“Really?” She was taken aback. “But you were the one who pressured me to go through with it.”

He had to touch her again, he couldn’t help himself. He trailed his fingers down her arm. “I know. And I’m sorry if I was pushing you. You know you have honour, you don’t need some stupid holodeck programme to confirm that.” 

She tilted her head and stared at him, obviously confused by his change of mind. “Tom, what—“

“B’Elanna.”

“Chakotay,” Tom acknowledged. He had come up behind Tom and insinuated himself between them, forcing Tom to take a step back.

“Aren’t you due on the bridge this morning?” the big man asked. Tom smiled. As dismissals went, that one was obvious enough even for him. 

“I have time,” Tom confirmed.

“Good. Then you can stop by your quarters and shave.” He turned toward B’Elanna, who stifled a laugh, and Tom rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t forget about our dinner,” he said to her. Maybe, with a huge heap of luck, they’d be able to keep their date. As he headed for the doors he heard Chakotay.

“Something interesting just happened…”

~~

Maybe...maybe if instead of going to talk to B’Elanna, if he’d taken a shuttle out and met the Cataati ship, warned them off, _blown them up_. Maybe he should have gone straight to the captain and warned her. Yeah, that worked so well the last time.

He was at the helm, staring at the simpering, woeful face of Rahmin, the Caatati leader. He was a portrait of abject misery. Thin, hunched, disheveled and dirty. Tom wondered how much of it was an act. 

Janeway exuded sympathy. “How many of you escaped?”

“A few thousand on thirty ships,” Rahmin answered. “All that's left from a planet of millions.”

Tom was tempted to give him some pointers: advise him to wipe away a tear. If he stood up straighter, showed a little dignity in his poverty, he might come across as a more sympathetic character. _Or, Tommy, you self-righteous son of a bitch, maybe his spine isn’t built for standing up straight. And maybe if your planet, your wife and children, had been eradicated by the Borg, if other people treated you like vermin, you’d be pretty fucking beaten down, too!_

Tom closed his eyes and breathed.

“If it's not too much to ask, is there any way you might also spare us a small quantity of thorium isotopes? Without them, our systems can't function.”

The thorium. Maybe that was the answer. The captain had shared technology before, _and look how that turned out_ , and if they could figure out a way to power a replicator with thorium, the Caatati would be self sufficient. All they needed was power. And if anyone could rig it, B’Elanna could. Tom smiled. It was a good idea. 

“We have a technology that will allow us to transport you instantly to our ship. If you will allow it, we’d like to bring you aboard and have our doctor examine you. Then we’ll be better able to supply you with medicines that won’t conflict with your physiology.”

“Of course, Captain Janeway. You are so generous. What should I do?” 

Janeway smiled warmly at him. “Nothing. Just wait.”

At a look from the captain, Harry cut the connection. Tom could hear Tuvok comm the transporter room, and he turned in his chair in time to see Ayala step into the turbolift, likely on his way to meet the Caatati leader.

“Captain, if I may?”

“You have something to add, Tom?” She sat in her chair and smiled indulgently at him. 

“Captain, it occurs to me that no matter how much we give them, it won’t be enough. They’ll be back, begging for more supplies, and we only have so much we can spare.”

“Are you suggesting we don’t help them, Mister Paris?” Her voice held that tone that said she was disappointed in you; that told you you’d let her down. 

“No. I think we should really help them.”

“Teach a man to fish?” Janeway nodded. “How?”

“If we gave them a replicator, figured out how to get it to run on thorium isotopes. B’Elanna could convert it—”

Janeway was holding up her hand. “You know we can’t share Federation technology, Tom.”

“They’re warp capable, Captain. They’ve come to us for help, we wouldn’t be interfering. The Prime Directive doesn’t—”

“We don’t know what they would do with it. They could replicate weapons, photon torpedoes, and then they wouldn’t be asking the next ship they see for help, they could demand it.”

Tom shook his head. “Or they could replicate food and medicines and they wouldn’t have to ask for help from anyone.”

“No. Remember what happened last time, with the Kazon.”

“That’s because Seska didn’t integrate the technology. If we—”

“We can’t risk it, Tom.”

He huffed a frustrated breath, tried to keep his tone level even as his volume rose. “But, if we—”

“Lieutenant. May I remind you that you are speaking to a senior officer.” 

Tuvok’s voice held a note of warning. Tom looked away, swung his chair back to face the viewscreen. “Yes, sir.” He’d known she wouldn’t listen. He had to stop it himself. Or...or he had to figure out a way to make her listen.

~~

He resisted the urge to track her down, to see if she’d tried the Day of Honor programme. He resisted the urge to comm her. He went to the mess, ate a bowl of stew, remembered when he was almost finished that he could have used his rations on something edible instead and they’d be back in his account in the morning. But only if he didn’t stop the time loop and he definitely intended to stop it today. This today, not tomorrow’s today. 

He was getting a headache. That was new…

~~

“With respect, Captain, the idea is insane. I told Chakotay it’s too risky. Even if we can open a conduit—and that’s a big if—we don’t know what we’ll find in there. We may open it only to have a Borg cube fly out!” 

Janeway’s mouth was pressed into a thin, tight line. “We have no guarantees that we can open a conduit at all, B’Elanna.”

“Captain, I understand how this idea could be...enticing,” Tom said. “We could be home in weeks. Or, the tachyon emissions required to open the conduit could trigger a warp core breach.”

“Well, I don’t think that would happen,” B’Elanna scoffed, “but with my luck today…” he heard her mutter.

“It’s our job as Starfleet officers to explore all new avenues that present themselves to us. We have Seven, here, to help us, and I don’t think I’m willing to let this opportunity go by without at least giving it a try. We’re only going to take a look. We won’t do anything rash today.” The captain turned toward Tom with a small sigh. “Tom, you, Harry, and Seven go to astrometrics. See what you can do about plotting a course home, just in case this works.”

“Your astrometrics lab is primitive and outmoded,” Seven said, with impeccable timing. “It requires updating. Borg technology would vastly improve your chances of navigating a transwarp corridor, if you manage to open one.”

“ _Our chances_ , Seven,” Janeway admonished gently. “And that sounds like a project for another day.” 

It was like watching a game of ping pong and knowing exactly where the ball would hit every time, the arc of the players’ swing, when the racket would impact with the bouncing ball. 

“I disagree,” Seven argued. “Improving the astrometrics lab now would aid...us in plotting a course to the Alpha Quadrant and—”

Janeway raised her hand and shook her head in a gesture that had become all too familiar to Tom. “Your objection is noted, Seven. But we’ll try it my way first.” She turned back to B’Elanna and looked pointedly at her. “We’re not going anywhere for now: we’re just going to see what happens. Dismissed.”

~~

Harry went back to the bridge, and Tom and Seven were headed to engineering. They’d plotted a course that led them to the Alpha Quadrant, and now all they had to do was make the attempt to open the conduit. _And dump the core, and go get it, and get mugged by the Caatati, and have the shuttle explode, and float in space, and maybe die for real this time._ Tom stopped walking and touched Seven on the shoulder to halt her. 

“Lieutenant?”

He wasn’t in a hurry to meet that Caatati in the corridor again, so he had to stall until he figured Tuvok had passed by. “Our visitor, he said that the Caatati were assimilated by the Borg. When was that, do you know?”

“Approximately one year ago, standard Earth time.”

“Approximately.” Tom grinned. “Why, Seven, I believe you’re making progress.”

Her ornamented eyebrow rose in question. “Progress. Explain.”

“Or maybe not.” Tom frowned. “Your speech patterns. Your...Borg perfection. I was expecting something like, three hundred and sixty-seven standard Earth days, not ‘approximately one year’.”

She stared at him for a full, agonizing, five seconds. “Are you mocking me, Lieutenant?”

Tom chuffed a laugh. “No. No, I was serious.”

She nodded slowly. “It has been three hundred and seventy-eight days, twelve hours since the Borg appeared in orbit of the Caatati homeworld. Would you like me to specify the minutes and seconds as well?”

Tom held up a hand. “No, no, that’s okay. So, what’s their Borg designation?”

“Species 3112.”

“Ahh.”

“If you want to know the location of Rahmin’s wife and children, I do not possess that knowledge. Depending on their ages, his children would have been placed in Borg maturation chambers. If his wife were compatible and uninjured, she would have been assimilated, and all memories of her previous existence as an individual would be blocked from her thoughts. The information would be retained and added to the perfection of the collective, but no drone would be able to assign a specific identity to any other individual drone. Does this answer your question, Lieutenant Paris?”

“Tom. And, yeah, I guess.” Actually, if you didn’t dwell on the horror and the gruesomeness, it was pretty interesting.

“The term, individual drone, is an oxymoron,” Seven stated.

Tom fought a grin, wondering if it had hurt her to say it. He nodded. 

“Lieutenant Torres doesn’t like me.” 

Tom wanted to deny it, but it was true. “She doesn’t trust you, yet,” he hedged.

“Many people aboard _Voyager_ feel the same way.”

“Yeah, I guess they do. But I’m not one of them. What happened to you, what you became, wasn’t your fault.”

“I see. You are comparing me to Rahmin’s wife and children.”

For someone who spent the majority of her life as a Borg drone, Seven was proving to be pretty damned intuitive. “Maybe I am. Look, if you need help fitting in around here, from someone who didn’t exactly fit in himself at the beginning of our voyage, just ask.”

She tilted her head and stared at him, reminiscent of B’Elanna when she was chewing over some new information. “I will remember your offer, Lieu— Tom.”

“Good.” He smiled at her, and motioned for her to continue walking. Surely Tuvok and Rahmin had passed by now. “Umm… So, I’ve never navigated a transwarp conduit before. Any pointers? Tips you’d like to share?”

She ran an appraising glance from his eyebrows to his chest. “You will have no idea what you’re doing. It would be best if I were to take over if we’re able to open a transwarp conduit.”

Right. Of course. And she wondered why no one liked her.

~~ 

“All systems are ready,” Seven said, right on cue. 

B’Elanna followed with the classic (and never boring), “We're only going to take a peek. We open a conduit, get as much sensor data as we can, then close it up. I want to take this one step at a time.”

“I've set up a temporary tachyon matrix within the main deflector. It's online.” 

Tom could have chorused the words along with Vorik, and he idly wondered what would happen if he punched him in the nose right now, no warning, just a quick jab and snap back. Would Vorik hit him back? Would he think he’d gone insane and subdue him with the Vulcan neck pinch thing? The Borg must have assimilated Vulcans at Wolf 359, so did they know the Vulcan neck pinch thing? Maybe Seven would—

“Tom!”

He looked up and B’Elanna was staring at him. They were all staring at him. She raised an eyebrow, and he smiled sheepishly. 

“Take us past warp two.”

He nodded. “We're at warp three.” Maybe if they were going faster…?

“There's no indication of a subspace field,” Seven stated. “I recommend switching to a higher energy band.” At B’Elanna’s nod, she tapped her console. “The subspace field is forming.”

Suddenly, but not surprisingly for Tom, an alarm sounded, and B’Elanna cursed. “Tachyon particles are leaking into the propulsion system!”

Tom shouted, a moment too late, “Shut down the deflector!”

“Done,” Vorik said. “But the leak is continuing.”

The captain commed them, and B’Elanna gave her the bad news. “I’ll try decoupling the dilithium matrix,” Tom suggested. _Third time’s a charm_. But B’Elanna shook her head. 

“No effect, try it again.”

“Nothing,” Tom muttered. “Damnit!”

“I've cut all power relays, but the tachyon levels are still rising,” Vorik informed them. 

Tom stared at B’Elanna. He was out of suggestions, out of answers, and he wondered if he was doomed to live out his existence standing idly by while the core threatened to breach. Over. And over. Again.

“All right, everybody out! Now!” B’Elanna ordered. Her crew moved quickly and orderly toward the doors, but Seven stayed put. 

“That means you, too, Seven,” Tom said. 

“I can be of help.”

“That's an order,” B’Elanna snarled. To Tom, it was starting to play out like a campy holodeck programme. 

B’Elanna was bent over Seven’s console, frantically jabbing at the screen and cursing a steady stream of Klingon invectives. _And she claims she’s not interested in her heritage_ , Tom thought. He took a step toward her, bent slightly, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Let’s go, Lieutenant.”

“Tom! What the hell? Let go of me!” 

She pushed at his arm, but he hauled her away from the core struts. He yelled into her hair while she squirmed. “It's not working, B’Elanna. The core is about to breach!” She turned and shoved on his chest, and broke free, but Tom caught her arm and stared at her. “It’s over!”

She stilled and, finally, she nodded. “Computer, prepare to eject the warp core, authorisation Torres omega phi nine three.”

He followed her out this time, only partly to make sure she actually left, and watched as she swung around the door jam and slammed her back against the bulkhead. He listened as she gave the command to eject the core, and told the captain what she’d done, and all he could think of was how nice she had felt in his arms, how good it felt to have her pressed against him.

~~

It only took Janeway a few minutes to reach engineering once it repressurized and B’Elanna gave the go ahead to re enter, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear she’d transported in. Or maybe she had a secret, ultra quick personal turbolift. Or a slide! A secret, captains-only spiral slide like the ones at a water park his family had visited when he was a kid. He could ask her. If he pissed her off it wouldn’t matter because she’d forget about it tomorrow. The next today.

“We're stopped dead, Captain. The warp core is millions of kilometres away by now and the impulse engines are seriously damaged. I can give you a few thrusters, but that's about it.”

He’d heard it before, so he concentrated on B’Elanna, her tone of voice, the look on her face. She thought it was her fault. 

Janeway frowned. “How long before I can have impulse power?” 

“I can't give you an estimate on that. We're still assessing the damage. So much for opening a transwarp conduit.” B’Elanna’s gorgeous mouth was pursed, like she’d tasted something bitter. “I sent the Borg back to her alcove. We won't be needing her in here any more.”

The captain stared at her for a moment, and Tom wondered if she would say something, if she would remind B’Elanna that Seven was a member of the crew now. But she stayed silent. _Bigger fish to fry._ Tom thought. 

“At least the core is still intact. Tom, take a shuttle and find it. See if you can tractor it back to Voyager.”

“Yes ma'am,” he nodded, grateful for the opportunity to get the hell out of the room. 

“It'll be unstable,” B’Elanna warned. “It should be repaired before he tries to put a tractor beam on it.” 

“Well then, you go with him. Do whatever you have to, just get it back here in one piece,” Janeway ordered. 

“No!” Tom said. “That’s not necessary. I can handle it.”

B’Elanna frowned. “Tom, no offense but you won’t have any idea what you’re doing,” she stated. It was the second time today he’d been called dumb by an intelligent woman. It was starting to grate. 

“Then I’ll take Vorik with me. He can do it.” There was no way Tom wanted her in that shuttle. He wanted her here, on _Voyager_ where she would be safe. 

“He’s going to be busy with the impulse engines,” she reminded him. She stared at him, hurt and disappointment in her eyes, and Tom willed her to understand. Any other time, he’d love to have her alone in a shuttle for a few hours. But not this time, not with what he knew was coming. 

The captain was frowning now, too, and Tom knew he’d lost. “Well, that’s settled,” she said with a nod. “Contact us when you find the core.”

“Of course, Captain,” B’Elanna responded. “I’ll meet you in the shuttlebay,” she said to Tom, and turned and headed toward her office. 

~~ 

“We're getting near some random ion turbulence,” B’Elanna cautioned. 

“Yeah, I know,” Tom said. “I’m changing course to avoid it.” He glanced at B’Elanna. She was huddled in her seat, her shoulders hunched, a look of introspection on her face. “You know, you could go easier on Seven.”

“Se-ven?” B’Elanna snipped. “You’re on a first name basis now. Since when are you so friendly with the _Borg_?”

Tom sighed. “I’m not, it’s just… Look, she didn’t ask for what happened to her. She didn’t ask to become a Borg.”

B’Elanna stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “For all we know, she’s the one responsible for the tachyon leak! This could be all her fault.” She gestured around the shuttle with a stabbing motion of her hand. 

“I don’t see how,” Tom argued. “We were right there with her when...nevermind.”

B’Elanna straightened in her chair, turned her head. “Maybe you’d rather have dinner with her tonight since you two are so close.”

To be honest, he’d assumed their dinner tonight was cancelled, but where there’s hope, there’s him, killing it. “I don’t want to have dinner with her; I don’t think she even eats real food yet.” The look B’Elanna sent him was withering. “B’Elanna—”

He was interrupted by a beeping from the console. “We’ve found the core. Damnit.” So had the Caatati.

“Who is that?” B’Elanna asked, her voice rising. 

“The Caatati. They're trying to put a tractor beam on it,” Tom answered. 

“What do they think they're doing? They could cause an antimatter explosion!” She moved to the rear station, and her hands were flying across the console, and Tom knew instantly what she was about to try. 

“B’Elanna, wait!” he yelped. “This is the shuttle _Cochrane_ to the Caatati vessel. Please respond.”

“Don't come any closer.” The voice of the Caatati leader, Rahmin, came over the comlink. “We're performing a salvage operation.”

“You have to stop, now!” Tom replied. “What you’re doing is dangerous.” He looked over at B’Elanna. She was staring back at him, dumbfounded. Tom knew he had to stop this, had thought he could, but events were unfolding exactly as they had before. He felt things spiraling out of control again. 

Rahmin ignored his warning. “I'm afraid we got here first. Don't interfere or we'll open fire.”

“Don't you realise that core is highly unstable? If you try to tractor it like that you could cause an antimatter explosion.” B’Elanna was furious, and Tom recognized her rising desperation in her voice.

“B’Elanna,” he said, “please, go to the back and put on your EV suit.”

Her head snapped up and she stared at him, a frown pinching her expression. “What?”

“Please. I need to know you’ll be safe. Just trust me.”

She shook her head, confused, and turned back to her console. “I’m setting up a pulse to send along their tractor beam. Hopefully it will interrupt it long enough for us to disable them.”

“No!” Tom shouted, aware that he sounded unstable himself. “It won’t work. And they’ll...please, just do what I said.” He was standing now, and his hand closed on her arm as he pulled her out of her seat. He shook his head. “I need you safe.” 

He stared into her eyes, willing her to understand. She didn’t. She pulled her arm out of his grip and shoved him away. “What’s wrong with you?” she shouted. She turned back to her console, running through the final sequence to initiate the pulse. 

“B’Elanna—”

An alarm shrilled on the helm. 

::Warning, reading increased levels of antimatter. Matter-antimatter reaction is destabilizing::

She looked at him, and for the first time Tom saw her fear. He reached for her again. 

“Tom, we need to stop—”

For a moment, all he saw were her eyes, huge and dark and beautiful. Then he saw a blinding flash, then nothing.


	6. 6th Waking

_Yet do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young._

~ William Shakespeare, “Sonnet XIX”, 1609

 

~~~ 

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

He woke gasping, his heart pounding in his chest. He was alive. He was alive despite Time’s best attempts to kill him. Which...was ridiculous and paranoid. Time wasn’t an evil entity out to get him, events were simply playing out, that was all. 

He skipped his shower, ignored his beard and hair, and pulled on his uniform. If he could shave off enough time, he might just make it up to the bridge to warn the captain before the Caatati showed up. But he had to talk to B’Elanna first. He paused before he left his quarters and keyed in a command, scooping up his last minute bounty. 

He headed straight to engineering. It took him a moment to orient himself—she wasn’t at the console yet. He felt time slipping away from him, felt the niggling certainty that he would be too late again. Which was ridiculous, because if things kept on as they were going, he would have all eternity to get this right. 

He finally spotted her off to the right and felt a wash of relief. She was hovering over Vorik who, in turn, was crouched over a leaking plasma conduit. The area was rapidly filling with a billowing cloud of coolant, and Tom stifled a cough. He approached them at a near run. 

“Perhaps it would be advisable to reconfigure the coolant assembly.” Vorik was saying. “That would give us greater control over the pressure valve emissions.”

“You're probably right, and tomorrow we can do it first thing.” B’Elanna responded. “But not today.” She was obviously frazzled, and Tom wondered how Vorik couldn’t see it. 

“I don't understand. Why wait until tomorrow? Today would be a much better—”

Tom slipped between them. “Not today, Vorik,” he said. He smiled at B’Elanna. “Good morning!” 

“Tom.” B’Elanna frowned and propped her fists on her hips. “What makes you think you can order around my engineers?” She raised an eyebrow, and Tom recognized the jutt of her chin. 

“Because I know what you’re going to say before you say it.”

“Oh, really? And what am I thinking now?” She cocked her head, and stared at him, then her expression changed to one of puzzlement, and she reached up and lightly scraped her fingernails over the stubble on his jaw. “This is a new look for you. I like it. I’m sure the captain will, too.” 

Tom’s gut tightened and he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her, right now, right here, in the middle of main engineering. He almost spilled the coffee. “For you,” he said, shoving a mug of hot raktajino and a blueberry muffin toward her. She took them, obviously confused by his generosity. 

“You’re thinking that you’ve had a lousy morning, and you’re wondering how much worse it’s going to get.” He folded his arms across his chest and couldn’t help the smug expression that settled on his features. 

She smirked. “A conduit rupture is irritating but it’s hardly going to ruin my day.”

Tom held up his hand, fingers curled, and ticked off a list as he straightened them one by one. “You woke up late because you forgot to set your alarm, the acoustic inverter in your sonic shower went out so you didn’t get to shower this morning, and by the time you fixed it, you didn’t have time for breakfast.” He nodded at the muffin. “Two of your engineers are out sick, so you had to cancel your fuel cell overhaul.”

She drew back and her mouth dropped open. “Have you been spying on me?!”

Tom stared at her, then laughed. “No.”

She frowned, and made a show of surveying him, looking pointedly at his pockets and now-empty hands. “Where’s your helm evaluation?” she asked. 

“You don’t want it today,” he stated. 

“I don’t? And why not?” She took a bite of the muffin and chewed.

“Because today isn’t going to go as planned,” he answered.

Her brows drew together and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She shook her head. “What’s gotten into you?”

“In a few minutes, Chakotay’s going to come down here to speak with you. I don’t know what he says, but later today we’re going to try to open a Borg transwarp conduit with Seven.” 

“Seven of Nine?” She shook her head. “Transwarp conduits are dangerous! We’d have no idea what we’re doing. Why would we mess around with that?”

Tom leaned closer. “I don’t know.” His fingers brushed her elbow. “But we’re going to. And we’ll fail.”

B’Elanna’s eyes were flashing fire. “I would never even try it, especially if the _Borg_ were behind the idea.” 

By _Borg_ she meant Seven, Tom knew. It wasn’t a secret that B’Elanna didn’t like her, didn’t trust her. But she’d been professional during the previous tests, and he’d had the opportunity to observe her, to talk to her, and he was sure she wasn’t responsible for the tachyon leak. Then again, if she were, how would he know? He wasn’t an engineer. B’Elanna brought him back to their conversation. 

“Who told you this? How did you find out?”

“I…” Tom paused. What could he say? Would she believe that he knew because he’d been stuck on this merry-go-round for the last week? Not likely. Not yet. “I hear things.” 

She stared at him, skepticism glinting in her eyes. “Tom Paris, the man with his finger on the pulse of the ship.” The words were a little garbled because she’d taken another bite of the muffin.

He glanced at the warp core, happily churning clouds of aqua and white and cerulean. It looked contented, almost self-satisfied. Tom shook his head. This loop was not the fault of a vindictive, sentient warp core. If he believed that, he must finally be losing his mind. He nodded toward it, “If that’s so, I’d say you were the guardian of the ship’s heart.”

She shifted just slightly, softened just a bit, and he leaned toward her. She was looking into his eyes, and he saw himself reflected there and, briefly, he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. 

“B’Elanna!” 

Tom started and glanced over his shoulder to see Chakotay crossing the deck toward them. “Told you so,” he said. He straightened just as Chakotay reached them. 

“Lieutenant.” Chakotay eyed his jaw. “In a hurry this morning?”

“Commander.” Tom nodded. “Excuse me, I forgot to shave.” He smiled at B’Elanna and headed for the door. He wondered if she would finish that muffin or throw it at Chakotay once he told her the news about Seven being assigned to engineering.

~~

Chell stopped him in the corridor to tell him his joke, and after his obvious disappointment at Tom’s ruining the punchline in yesterday’s today, Tom let him tell it. He laughed politely, but he hadn’t really been paying attention. Maybe it had nothing to do with the speed of the ship or the energy band. Maybe the problem was in the deflector. Vorik had...will...convert the deflector to emit tachyons. Could he sabotage it? Or convince B’Elanna to enhance the shielding around the core before the test? 

But they hadn’t done the test on the third today, and the core had still breached because of the cascade failure in the coolant injector coils. Maybe Vorik was right, maybe they should reconfigure the coil assembly. He shook his head. It was too much, too confusing. There were too many variables and he was starting to lose track. Maybe he should take notes...which would disappear at midnight like Cinderella’s coach. Tom sighed. He felt his own transformation into a pumpkin looming once again.

~~

“I apologise for our appearance and the condition of our ship. Most of our people were assimilated by the Borg over a year ago. We lost everything.”

The Caatati had arrived and Captain Janeway had been hooked by their plight. She radiated compassion and concern. “How many of you escaped?”

“A few thousand on thirty ships. All that's left from a planet of millions.”

Tom sat at his station and observed them in conversation. He tried to remember his junior school literature classes, tried to decide which story archetype Rahmin fit. He was a villain, for sure, but which one? Not the grotesque, despite his appearance. He was no Frankenstein’s monster with a pure heart buried beneath his ruined outer shell. He didn’t fit the imposter, either, he was more a villian of opportunity. If he had once had a wife, a family, once been proud and accomplished and _normal_ , then maybe he was the corrupted villain, someone pushed to an evil act through desperation and circumstance. 

And Tom wondered, what would _he_ do, in this man’s place? He liked to think of himself as the romantic hero, maybe even the rebel hero, but if he were backed into a corner, if his children were starving, he’d abandon Starfleet’s lofty principles in a heartbeat to save them. He’d burn it all down, he’d blow it all to hell.

“Of course,” the captain was saying. “Send us a list of your needs and we'll see what we can do.”

The man gave a little bow. “I'm deeply grateful. If it's not too much to ask, is there any way you might also spare us a small quantity of thorium isotopes? Without them, our systems can't function.”

“I think we can arrange that. I'll speak to my engineer.” Tom flicked a glance over his shoulder. Janeway was smiling, benevolent, gracious. And Tom wondered how she was so easily taken in. But, then again, the Rahmin in this moment in time had no desires on their warp core. He had asked only for the simplest of items, for the least help: some food, medicines, the isotopes needed to power their ship. 

“You can't imagine what this means to us, Captain. Thank you.”

This Rahmin was grateful. And for the first time Tom wondered what will happen in the coming hours that turns him into a thieving bad guy without a trace of empathy.

~~

It occurred to him to access the programme and tone down the painsticks about twenty minutes before Baytart relieved him for lunch. He’d been tempted to fake a headache, to ask to be relieved a little early, but if he hurried he might be able to make the adjustments before B’Elanna tried it. If she tried it; there were no guarantees. 

If, as he was beginning to suspect, there were certain fixed points in time that must repeat, like the Caatati appearing, or the injector coils failing, or Chell’ stupid joke, then it must be equally true that there were lots of things that happened that could or could not happen, and it didn’t make any difference. He suspected that B’Elanna trying the programme was one of the _who cares?_ things. But just in case she tried it this today, he’d better take out the damned painsticks.

He accessed the programme files through the hololab on deck five and made the changes, then slipped down to deck six. The programme was running but B’Elanna wasn’t there. Moklor was, along with his black eye and bad attitude. He advanced on Tom with a glare.

“Do you come to have your honor—”

“Computer, end programme,” Tom said with a sigh. Always, always, always too late.

~ 

He rang her chime honestly wondering if she would let him in this time. Time. Maybe he should start thinking of it as a proper noun. 

The door slid open and he poked his head in, cautious in case she decided to deck him, but she was huddled on her sofa under a lap blanket just as she had been on the first today. Her legs were drawn up, knees to her chest, and her hands were fisted in the blanket. Her workout vest was again carelessly draped over the back of her dining chair, but he left it there, the instinct to be near her trumping the desire to handle her things. 

He crossed the room and knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his. She tensed but didn’t pull it away, and Tom considered himself lucky. “I’m an idiot,” he said.

“I won’t argue that,” she replied. 

“I swear, I didn’t realize the painsticks would hurt.” The look she sent him confirmed his self-diagnosis: idiot. He raised her slack fist to his jaw, bounced it against his cheek. “D’ya wanna bop me one? Break my nose? Knock out a few teeth?”

She smiled, “Don’t tempt me,” then ran a knuckle along his chin. “You shaved.”

“Yeah, well.” He released her hand and straightened so he could sit beside her on the sofa. “Who knew Chakotay would be such a stickler for protocol?”

She looked away. “He pulled rank on me this morning, too.”

“You can take the boy out of Starfleet, but…” He paused, wondering just how well that old maxim applied to himself. “But,” he continued, “there are times when I wish things were a little more Maquis.” Like the uniform, for instance.

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t work, not out here. Starfleet protocol is about the only thing holding us together.”

“Not quite the only thing.” He smiled at her. “You don’t need to do some stupid holodeck programme to prove your honor, B’Elanna. The whole thing was—”

“No,” she turned toward him and shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. It was a great programme, Tom, and I could tell you put in a lot of time on it. Thank you.”

He looked away, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. It was easier when she was angry with him, when she was yelling at him. She seemed fragile at the moment, and he didn’t know what to say to make it better. “I wanted to…” honor her. He’d designed the programme to honor her history, her heritage. To honor _her_ , but he couldn’t tell her that. 

And suddenly, before he could do something stupid, before he looked like even more of an idiot, his stomach growled. Loudly. 

B’Elanna burst into laughter. “Hungry?”

“Well, I did skip lunch,” he confessed.

She threw off the blanket and stood, then held out her hands, palm up. He put his own in them, relishing the feel of her small, slim fingers curling around his hands. She tugged, and he stood. “Come on, then. I happen to know that Neelix has made a special treat for today.”

“Oh? It’s probably all gone.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she grinned. “It’s _rokeg_ blood pie, for the Day of Honor.”

Tom grimaced as he followed her out of her quarters. “You know, it’s probably not necessary to celebrate every aspect of a holiday.”

“I was ready to quit days ago,” she reminded him as she pulled him toward the turbolift. “Going through with it was your idea.” 

~~

Tom listened while they debated the pros and cons of the attempt. B’Elanna was against the idea, and had warned Janeway that it was likely impossible. To the captain, it was a case of, ‘what do we have to lose’. But Tom knew. He’d become intimately acquainted with losing this week. 

“We have no guarantees that we can open a conduit at all, B’Elanna,” Janeway reminded her. “And if we do, we’re only going to take a look. I have no intention of doing anything rash today.” She turned toward Tom with a small sigh. “Tom, you, Harry, and Seven go to astrometrics. See what you can do about plotting a course home, just in case this works.”

“Captain,” B’Elanna interrupted. “I want it on record that I strongly object to this test.” There was steel in her spine, an authority to the set of her jaw. 

_This is new,_ Tom thought, followed by, _Why? What had changed?_

Janeway looked at her, assessing, irritated. “This won’t work unless you’re on board, B’Elanna.”

“I’ll give you my best, Captain, of course.” There was an edge to her voice; the insult, intended or not, had hit home.

Tom stiffened and sat straighter in his seat. “Captain, I—”

“Your astrometrics lab is—” 

He and Seven spoke at the same time, again. He almost laughed, and nodded at her to continue. Nothing he said would stop this now, anyway. His best hope was to convince B’Elanna to upgrade the shields around the warp core.

“...is primitive and outmoded. It requires updating. Borg technology would vastly improve your chances of navigating a transwarp corridor, if you manage to open one.”

“ _Our chances_ , Seven,” Janeway admonished. “And that sounds like a project for another day.”

“I disagree,” Seven argued. “Improving the astrometrics lab now would aid...us in plotting a course to the Alpha Quadrant and—”

“Your objection is noted, Seven. But we’ll try it my way first.” She turned back to B’Elanna and looked pointedly at her. “We’re not going anywhere for now; we’re just going to see what happens. Dismissed.”

They all rose, and Tom raised a hand to Seven. “Go ahead, I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said. He followed B’Elanna out of the briefing room and into the corridor, jogging to catch up with her. 

“B’Elanna!”

She stopped, then turned, the glower on her face replacing the good mood he’d managed to coax out of her during lunch. (There had indeed been some—lots— _rokeg_ blood pie left over and it had indeed been repulsive. She’d delighted in watching him choke it down.) 

He reached for her, trailed his fingertips over the curve of her shoulder. “I agree with you,” he said quietly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“She’s blinded by her need to get us home,” B’Elanna hissed. “For all we know, we could open up a conduit and a Borg cube could fly out!” It didn’t seem as unlikely as it had the first time she’d suggested it, a few todays ago. “For all we know,” B’Elanna continued, “the _Borg_ is in on it!”

Tom wasn’t touching that; he’d learned his lesson yesterday. “Look, we’re going to use tachyons to open the conduit, right?” She nodded. “What happens if they get into the warp core?”

“Well, theoretically, that could trigger a breach, but I doubt that would happen. I’ll have Vorik set up a temporary tachyon matrix in the main deflector.” Tom almost smiled. “They’ll be targeted, they won’t be anywhere near the core.”

“But what if something goes wrong? You were having trouble with the coolant injectors this morning.” _C’mon,_ he thought, _anticipate where I’m going with this._

“Well, I could increase the shields around the core, just in case. But nothing will go wrong. You know Vorik and his Vulcan precision.” She smirked. 

Half of engineering-on-the-fly, like they did here in the Delta Quadrant, was knowing when _good enough for now_ was good enough, a concept some of the ‘fleeters had a hard time grasping. The Maquis way. _Now that was an interesting thought…_

Tom nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you in an hour. Dinner tonight,” he reminded her with a smile.

~~

He, Harry and Seven had plotted a course to the Alpha Quadrant. Tom had lingered in the corridor with Seven on their way to engineering, peppering her with questions about the Caatati and her experience as a Borg, and had successfully—though just barely—avoided a run in with Tuvok and Rahmin. Seven had confirmed that he was too dumb to pilot a transwarp conduit. This today was rolling along like it always did. Always would. 

Seven was at her assigned station in front of the core, Tom beside her at his. “All systems are ready,” she said. 

B’Elanna nodded. She was still angry, Tom could tell. She didn’t like being pushed into doing things. She needed a valid reason to try something this risky and, in her mind, the captain hadn’t given her one. But three years of on-the-job Starfleet training had compelled her follow orders even when she disagreed with them. 

“We're only going to take a peek. We open a conduit, get as much sensor data as we can, then close it up. I want to take this one step at a time.”

“I've set up a temporary tachyon matrix within the main deflector,” Vorik confirmed. “It's online.”

B’Elanna nodded and tapped her combadge. “Engineering to the bridge. We're ready to start, Captain.”

“ _Go ahead_.” Janeway’s voice came over the comm. “ _We'll monitor your progress from here_.”

“We'll need to be at warp speed to create a large enough subspace field. I'd like to reroute helm control to engineering.” She glanced at Tom and he resisted the urge to wink at her. Knowing what was coming, what was likely coming, he wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t feel very at ease, himself.

“ _Agreed. Janeway out._ ”

She looked at Tom again and he nodded. “Take us past warp two.”

“How’s warp two point seven five?”

“Precise.” She raised an eyebrow then turned to Vorik. “All right. Vorik, start emitting the tachyons.”

“Energising the matrix.” Vorik perused his console, his face like stone. Tom envied him his calm demeanor; his own pulse was starting to jump, and he schooled his breathing. 

Seven piped up, “There's no indication of a subspace field. I recommend switching to a higher energy band.”

“I say we give it a minute,” Tom tried.

“No,” B’Elanna said. “Do it.”

“The subspace field is forming.” Was Seven gloating?

An alarm sounded. Damnit! “Tachyon particles are leaking into the propulsion system!” B’Elanna shouted.

“Shut down the deflector!” Too late. Tom knew it was too late.

“Done,” Vorik said. “But the leak is continuing.”

Tom wanted to scream! He wanted to curse in Klingon. Run around engineering like a madman and kick the damn core into submission.

“ _Janeway to engineering._ ”

“The tachyons are flooding the warp core, Captain,” B’Elanna shouted. Tom admired her restraint in not saying ‘I told you so.’” His mind was already leaping ahead to after they dumped the core. If only he could go now. He should have had Culhane prep a shuttle before they started the test. Next time—he was certain now there would be a next time—he would do that. Say it was a drill. Anything to make sure it was standing by, ready to go. It was a short hop from engineering to the shuttlebay. If he had the captain’s secret twirly slide, it would be even faster. Of course, the slide would have to go backwards to deck ten. 

“All right, everybody out! Now!” B’Elanna was glaring at Seven. “That means you as well.”

Seven protested but B’Elanna practically shoved her out the door. Tom had to wonder if she ever got insulted. 

“We've got to neutralise the core,” Tom said. He caught her eyes and stared at intently at her. “I’m not leaving you.” She nodded. “I'll try decoupling the dilithium matrix.”

“No effect. Try it again.”

“No!” Tom shook his head again. “The core is about to breach. There’s no time.” The computer chose that moment to underline his comment. 

::Warning. Warp core breach imminent::

The look on her face almost broke his heart. Defeat. He grasped her by the upper arm and pulled her after him. He heard her order the computer to prepare to dump the core. No matter how many times it happened, it was never any easier to bear. 

They ran into the corridor and Tom skidded to a stop as the doors slammed shut behind them. It was the first time it occurred to him that they must have sealed. If he’d been slower, if he’d tripped, he’d have been stuck on the wrong side. 

“Computer, eject the warp core.” B’Elanna had slid down the bulkhead and was sitting on the floor, her head down. “Torres to Janeway.” 

“ _Go ahead._

“We've dumped the core,” B’Elanna said, her voice exuding misery. “Welcome to the worst day of my life.”

He almost pulled her up and into his arms. His gut clenched with wanting to. Instead, he smacked his combadge, adrenaline lending his voice an edge of authority that drove out his usually unruffled tone.

“Paris to shuttlebay.”

“ _Culhane here, sir._

“Prep the _Tereshkova_ , I’m taking her out.”

“ _Sorry, sir, no can do. We’re replacing her coolant injectors, but I can have the _Cochrane_ ready in ten._ ”

Tom closed his eyes and breathed. “Great. Thanks,” he said. Time would have her way… 

~~ 

“We're getting near some random ion turbulence,” B’Elanna cautioned. 

“Yeah, I know,” Tom said. “I’m changing course to avoid it.” He glanced at B’Elanna. She was huddled in her seat, her shoulders hunched, a look of introspection on her face. He knew what she was about to say, she’d said it twice before. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to join her, and they could forget about sleeping. 

“I wonder what else can go wrong today,” she murmured. Tom almost laughed. He could give her a list. Annotated. “If we get this core back,” she continued, “I'm going right to bed and sleeping straight through till tomorrow. Get this day over with.”

Not a bad idea, Tom thought, but pointless: there was no guarantee that _tomorrow_ would ever come. He saw his life stretching out in an endless series of _todays_ , slightly varied but never changing. “Trust me,” he muttered, “that won’t fix anything.”

She glanced at him and frowned. “What makes you think there’s anything to _fix_?”

Tom ignored the gibe. They didn’t have time to get into it. A light flashed on his console. “I’ve found the core,” he said. “Dead ahead.” He’d known where it was all along, and had pushed the shuttle hoping that he could get there before the Caatati. If he’d been driving an old Earth sports car, he’d be screeching to a stop right now spraying gravel in a cloud of dust. No such luck. The Caatati were already there, their tractor beam in place on the core. 

“Who is that?” B’Elanna asked, her voice rising. 

“The Caatati. They're trying to put a tractor beam on it,” Tom answered. He didn’t bother hailing them. He wondered what would happen if he targeted weapons on them, if he fired, blew them up. Would the core blow as well? Dare he take the chance?

“This is the Caatati to the smaller vessel. Don't come any closer. We're performing a salvage operation. Don't interfere or we'll open fire.”

“They know who we are,” Tom growled. 

“Don't you realise that core is highly unstable?” B’Elanna cautioned. “If you try to tractor it like that you could cause an antimatter explosion.”

Tom shook his head. “They're not answering.” He looked over at B’Elanna. 

She was staring back at him, dumbfounded. “Idiots!” Her voice was laced with fury. She moved to the rear station, and her hands were flying across the console, and Tom knew instantly what she was about to try. 

“B’Elanna, wait!” he yelped. “This is the shuttle _Cochrane_ to the Caatati vessel. Please respond.” He waited, but there was nothing. “What you’re doing is dangerous.” 

Rahmin ignored his warning. “I'm afraid we got here first. Don't interfere or we'll open fire.”

“I’m setting up a pulse to send along their tractor beam,” B’Elanna explained. “Hopefully it will interrupt it long enough for us to disable them.”

“No, B’Elanna,” he reached for her and pulled her away from the console. “We need to put on our EV suits.” Next time, he’d put it on when he first woke up. Save himself a few minutes. 

She frowned at him and shoved at his chest. “What?”

“Please. The core could go. I need to know you’ll be safe. Just trust me.”

She shook her head, confused, and turned back to her console. “I’m almost there.”

“It’s not going to work!” His voice was rising. He had to get through to her. “We need to beam out before they destroy the shuttle. Please, just do what I said.” He reached for her again, but she pulled her arm out of his grip and tapped the command that sent the pulse along the tractor beam. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she shouted.

“B’Elanna—”

An alarm shrilled on the helm. 

::Warning, hull integrity has destabilized. Hull breach in two minutes::

His jaw set and he stifled a curse. He yanked her along with him toward the back of the shuttle and this time she didn’t object. “They sent a pulse back along our energy beam,” he stated, feeling the need to validate his warning. He handed her her helmet, gloves, suit, boots. He was dressed before she was, despite his slower start; he was an old hand at it by now. He pulled the tether from his suit and clipped it to hers before she even had her helmet on. He looked at her, and when she nodded, he called for the computer to send a distress call to _Voyager_ , just in case it worked this time. It didn’t. 

“Energize.”

The shuttle disappeared in sparkling light, replaced by the inky blackness of space. He kept his gaze on B’Elanna. They were floating at odd angles to each other, and Tom was grateful for the tether that bound B’Elanna to him. It was disorienting, and he had to keep reminding his brain—and his stomach—that he wasn’t really falling. 

He saw a white flash from the corner of his eye, and they both turned their heads and watched as the _Cochrane_ exploded, ripped apart by the hull breach the computer had predicticted, and Tom thanked his lucky stars that they had made it out in time. He watched as pieces of the hull and other refuse were pushed outward in a spherical shape, watched as the distance between the pieces of debris expanded, watched as it rushed toward them at 800 metres per second. 

He reached for B’Elanna, turning his face away, lurching away from the certain death that was barrelling closer, shouting, “Nooo!”

He felt the ripple of escaped atmosphere from the shuttle buffet them. Then he felt nothing.


	7. 7th Waking

_But all the clocks in the city_  
_Began to whirr and chime_  
_Oh let not Time deceive you_  
_You cannot conquer Time._

~ WH Auden, “As I Walked Out One Evening”, 1937

~~~ 

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

Tom woke with a start and froze, then slowly, cautiously, raised his hands to his head. He patted his face, his chest, his shoulders, wiggled his legs and feet. He was whole. He was okay. He breathed a sigh of relief. He resisted the urge to comm B’Elanna to see if she was okay, too. She was, he knew it, and for the first time he was grateful for the reset. 

He was suddenly angry, and he surged out of bed and took a couple of steps toward his closet, intending to change and go talk to the captain. But he’d tried that and it hadn’t worked, and he’d broken out in a cold sweat when he woke, so just maybe a shower would be a good idea. He washed and shaved and cleaned his teeth. He finger-combed his hair, not really caring if it was a little messy. It was too short, he decided. Next time he’d ask Chell for a little less off the sides. He ordered a breakfast of pepperoni pizza and coffee because why not? All of his replicator rations would be back _tomorrow_ , and it wasn’t like he would be able to have dinner with B’Elanna tonight, anyway.

He had a plan. It was elegant in its simplicity, and he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before. He skipped engineering, not wanting to contribute to B’Elanna’s bad morning, and avoided the messhall altogether, and headed straight for the bridge. 

Jenkins was thrilled to be relieved an hour early, and Tom slid into his seat at the helm and waited. 

~~

He saw it as a blip on his sensors before Tuvok confirmed their presence. The Caatati ship. The bastards. He read the sensor data scrolling on his console: low energy emissions, no warp trail, their weapons didn’t look like they could get through _Voyager’s_ shields. Tom smiled. 

They hailed _Voyager_ , and Tom’s teeth clenched. 

Tuvok commed the captain. “Tuvok to Captain Janeway. Please come to the Bridge. A ship is approaching.” 

The captain strode onto the bridge in her usual take charge manner. She glanced at Tuvok. Seven had followed her out of her ready room but it didn’t matter. _Let them see her_ , Tom thought.

“It’s damaged but functional,” Tuvok continued. “Energy emissions are so low it's probably not capable of warp speed. Several dozen lifesigns aboard. We are being hailed, Captain.”

The captain took her chair. “Open a channel. I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship _Voyager_.”

The Caatati leader appeared on the screen, and Tom’s jaw set. He slid his chair a little to the right and glanced at his console.

“I am Rahmin. My people are the Caatati. I apologise for our appearance and the condition of our ship. Most of our people were assimilated by the Borg over a year ago. We lost everything.” Everyone was watching him, riveted to his sorrowful tale. Tom’s mouth twisted. His eyes narrowed.

“How many of you escaped?” Janeway asked. 

Tom reached and pressed a section of his console. His fingers played lightly over the board in a series of gentle taps, unfamiliar but not unpracticed. A full barrage of phaser fire leapt into space and crossed the void between the two ships in a fraction of a second. Before anyone on the bridge could fully comprehend what had happened, the Caatati ship exploded in a blinding flash of light. 

Tom heard Janeway and Chakotay gasp, heard Harry’s unprofessional, “What the—” Tuvok’s voice was cool, controlled. “The order to fire came from the helm, Captain.”

Tom raised his hands and spun in his chair, his face set. Tuvok was already moving toward him, his phaser extended. Ayala was right behind him. The captain and Chakotay were on their feet. He caught Baytart’s look of shock, refused to look at Harry. 

“Tom, what have you done?” Janeway asked. 

Ayala grabbed him roughly by the upper arm, and hauled him to his feet and away from the helm. 

“There’s nothing left of them, Captain,” Harry said. 

Janeway looked at him, her expression pained, confusion in her eyes. “Why, Tom?” she said. 

Tom just shook his head and laughed. 

~~ 

He was lying on the narrow bunk, his arm shielding his eyes, his right hand splayed across his stomach. His legs were raised, and he was knocking his knees together rhythmically, passing time. He didn’t have long to wait. 

“Tom.” The captain’s tone was stern, cold. 

He turned his head and stared at her. “Ma’am?” he acknowledged. 

“On you feet, Lieutenant!” Chakotay used his _command voice_ , his own temper raging just under the surface. _And there he is_ , Tom thought, the Maquis captain has been here all along. The funny thing is, in Tom’s shoes, the Chakotay of three years ago would have done the exact same thing. Tom hauled himself to his feet, straightened his shoulders. 

“Why did you do it?” Chakotay asked. 

Tom shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said. 

“Try me,” Chakotay replied.

Tom sighed. “The Caatati are… dangerous,” he stated. 

“Not anymore,” Chakotay interjected.

Tom’s mouth quirked, and he sat back down on the bunk, scrubbed his face with his hands. “No one told you to sit, Lieutenant,” Chakotay barked. He took a step toward the forcefield and glared at Tom. “Stand up!”

“Make me,” Tom taunted. 

“Explain you actions, Lieutenant,” Janeway ordered. Tom just shook his head. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was cut off by a hail from Tuvok. 

“Bridge to Captain Janeway.”

Her eyes bored into Tom as she raised a hand to her combadge. “Go ahead.”

“Three more Caatati vessels have appeared on sensors, Captain. They are hailing us.”

“I’ll be right there,” she replied. 

Tom’s head snapped up. “No!” he shouted. “You can’t talk to them! Don’t give them anything!” Janeway and Chakotay ignored him, turning and walking out of the brig without another glance in his direction. He shot up from the bunk and rushed toward the forcefield, calling after them, “Wait! Captain!”

Larson, the duty officer, curled his lip and shook his head. 

“Tell her!” Tom insisted. “You have to warn her.”

“You know I’m not supposed to talk to you,” Larson stated, then shifted a little and turned his shoulder to him. 

~~ 

Neelix entered with a tray and stood before the forcefield looking hesitant. “Tom?” he asked. 

“Don’t speak to him,” Lang cautioned. She had relieved Larson over an hour ago, and hadn’t said a word to him no matter how much he had implored her to tell him what was happening. 

“Neelix!” Tom smiled and his stomach rumbled. Breakfast had been hours ago. His friend looked at him, glanced away. “Please,” Tom begged, “tell me what’s going on. The captain didn’t let the Caatati onboard, did she? Tell me she didn’t give them anything.”

Neelix’ expression was remorseful. “How could you do such a thing?” he asked, shaking his head. 

“Neelix…” Tom was on his feet, near the forcefield. 

“Stand back,” Lang ordered. 

Tom backed up, and she dropped the forcefield so Neelix could enter with the tray. He could tell by the smell that it contained leola root. Neelix set it on the bench that doubled as his cot, then stared at him sorrowfully. Tom took his arm. “Neelix, you have to believe me—” he began.

“Let him go,” Lang ordered, steel in her voice. “Don’t make me stun you.” She had her phaser out and aimed at his chest. Tom released him and took a step back. “Look,” he said, “listen to me. The Caatati are dangerous, you can’t trust them. You have to stop them.”

“Neelix,” Lang said, “you need to leave now.” 

He backed out of the cell, sending Tom a sad little smile. “Don’t you see, we could be them,” Neelix said, shaking his head. “I never imagined you could do something like that, Tom.” He turned and started for the door.

“No! Neelix, wait!” Tom lunged forward and felt the buzz of the forcefield on his skin. He drew up sharply. “They’re going to take the core! Neelix!” But he was gone, and Lang wasn’t listening. 

~~

He was dozing, almost asleep, B’Elanna’s words flitting through his brain, “ _I’m going straight to bed and get this day over with._ ” It was tempting. Maybe if he banged his head against the wall repeatedly, or ran into the forcefield a couple of dozen times, Lang would stun him and he could sleep. But that sounded too painful. 

He was contemplating sitting up when the ship shuddered and dropped out of warp. No. No! “Lang!” he shouted, jumping off the bunk. “Lang, comm engineering. Ask B’Elanna if she just ejected the warp core.”

She rolled her eyes and made a show of looking at the console at her station. Every once in a while she tapped a section of the screen. 

“Ensign!” That bought him a brief glance upward. He stared at her for another thirty seconds before he gave up.

~~ 

He heard the doors slide open, and craned his neck, looking to see who had entered. Ayala walked over to Lang and said something to her that Tom didn’t catch. She nodded and left without even glancing at him. Tom was off the bunk and on his feet, suddenly uncertain. Mike Ayala was an okay guy, big, tough, he’d been Chakotay’s muscle back in the Maquis, not that Chakotay had needed anyone to fight his battles for him. Ayala was quiet, reserved, but he could change from being part of the furniture to a threat in the blink of an eye. 

And Tom was suddenly conscious of the fact that they were alone together. 

Mike stared at him, and Tom fought the instinct to take a step back. “Why did the ship fall out of warp?” he asked, hoping to distract the big guy. He didn’t answer, which didn’t really surprise Tom. “Did B’Elanna have to dump the core?” 

“Tell me why.” 

His voice was quiet, even, and Tom knew he wasn’t asking about the core. Tom shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

“Try me.” 

Tom swallowed. Took a breath. “The Caatati are dangerous. They begged us for aid, right? They’re going to take the core and there won’t be anything we can do about it. If they put a tractor beam on it, it could blow!” And a new fear caught him, “Who went to get the core? Mike, who went with B’Elanna?”

“Chakotay.”

Tom grimaced and pulled his fingers through his hair. “Damnit!” He paused, looked at the big man, B’Elanna’s friend. He’d always had a protective streak when it came to her. Tom had seen it, back when they were in the Maquis he’d warned Tom away with a look, and though it might have dimmed in their three years on _Voyager_ , it was still there.

“You’ve gotta let me out, Mike. I need to take a shuttle and go get her. She’s in trouble. They’re dangerous! Mike!”

He was unmoved. “Dangerous?” A look of disgust settled over his features. “They have nothing. They could be us. We could be just like them, next month, next year. They travel with their families. There were children on that ship. Would you blow the hell out of Naomi Wildman, too?” And with that he shook his head and headed toward the door. 

“Mike!” Tom called after him, but he didn’t even pause. And Tom remembered that he had a wife and a couple of kids back in the Alpha Quadrant. 

The doors opened again and Lang was back. She went to her station, checked the readings on the display, and studiously ignored him. Tom lay back down on the bunk, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. B’Elanna’s words from their shuttle ride came back to him, _“I’m going straight to bed, get this day over with.”_

She was right. He’d try again tomorrow. And he willed himself to sleep.

~~~~~


	8. 8th Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a brief reference to events in my story, Sanguine Febris, which can be found in the archive here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14209140

_Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow_  
_creeps in this petty pace from day to day to day._

~ William Shakespeare, “Macbeth”, 1606

 

~~~ 

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

Tom screwed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. His first thought was, _not again_. His second thought was, _how high can you count, Tommyboy?_

He brought his arms down and his elbow bumped _something_. Really, wish as he might, there shouldn’t be anyone in bed with him. He opened his eyes and jumped when he saw Q staring back at him. 

“Why are you doing this to me?!” Tom yelled at the same instant Q asked, “What do you think you’re doing!?”

Tom bolted out of the bed. “Me?! I’m not doing anything! I’m trying to fix this.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it,” Q muttered. “You are causing havoc in space-time. All these little ripples.” He waggled his fingers, spreading his hands to mimic a sphere. 

Tom scowled. “Look,” he said, “a joke’s a joke, but you need to make this stop before I go out of my mind.”

“Me? I don’t know how to stop it. You’ll have to figure that out on your own,” Q said airily. 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Tom demanded. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at the being in his bed.

“Well, you might want to start by figuring out what you did to cause it, then work backwards.” Q sat up a little and fluffed the pillows. He fussed with the blankets, settling them around his middle and legs. Tom saw that he was wearing a pair of red silk pyjamas. “How about some breakfast in bed?” Q asked, and snapped his fingers. A bed tray appeared loaded with coffee, orange juice, toast, bacon, scrambled eggs, and a couple of flaky croissants. Tom’s stomach growled. 

“Do you have any idea how often I hear you puny, insignificant life forms drone on and on, _if only I could have another chance; if only I could do it all again._ Well, now you have limitless chances to get it right and you’re complaining!” Q selected a toast corner and dropped a small dollop of jam onto it, then brought it to his mouth and bit down daintily. 

“I don’t want any more chances. I want this to stop. I want to go on with my life!” Tom glared and snatched a slice of bacon off of Q’s plate. He shoved it into his mouth and chewed. It was freakishly delicious. 

“Well, I didn’t cause it, so I have no idea how to stop it.” In went a forkful of eggs. 

“Oh, come on,” Tom enthused. “You’re the great and powerful Q! Can’t you just snap your fingers and make this stop?”

Q preened. “While I appreciate the adulation,” then scowled, “there are some things that I just can’t pull out of thin air. Fixing this,” he gestured with a croissant, “is one of them.”

“Come on,” Tom wheedled, “you must have some idea.”

“What have you tried?” He swallowed another forkful of eggs. 

Tom cringed. “Well, blowing up the Caatati ship didn’t help.” It was satisfying though, for a little while. “Neither did talking to the captain. And it doesn’t seem to matter how fast we’re flying when we do the transwarp test, we still have to dump the core.”

“Mmmm.” Q twirled his fork in the air. _Continue_.

“I talk to B’Elanna, I don’t talk to B’Elanna. She tries the Day of Honor programme, she doesn’t. We…,” he paused, “we argue about it, we don’t.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Well then, it’s obviously not about her.” Q was pensive for a moment. “What about Kathy?” he asked. “What does she do?”

Tom frowned. “The _captain,_ ” he stressed, “helps the Caatati. Gives them food, medicine. Thorium. She insists on trying to open a Borg conduit.” He paused. “It’s the test,” Tom said. “It has to be.”

He had started to pace but he stilled now, sat on a corner of the bed. “We use tachyons to open the conduit. Tachyons are a byproduct of temporal mechanics, or maybe it’s the other way round. The conduit doesn’t start to form until Seven switches to a higher energy band. That’s when the tachyons escape and leak into the warp core, causing it to breach. So…”

“So?”

“If I can rig it so we don’t switch to the higher band, the test will fail. No tachyons, no breach, no need to dump the core.”

“It was Seven’s idea, you say? That delightful former Borg?” Tom wouldn’t have described her as delightful, but he nodded his head. “Then the answer is simple: kill her and your test fails and your beloved warp core is safe!”

Tom’s mouth dropped open in shock! Was he insane? 

“Oh, come now,” Q insisted. “If she were still a drone, you wouldn’t think twice.”

“Sh..she’s a human being!” Tom spluttered.

“Right,” Q agreed. “And the eighty-eight Caatati on that ship weren’t.”

Tom stiffened and felt a wash of shame. “That was...a bad idea. I was frustrated, angry.” He shook his head. “I’m glad Time fixed that mistake.”

Q peered at him. “You really need to stop thinking of time with a capital tee,” he advised. He popped the last bit of croissant in his mouth then dusted his hands together. He set the breakfast tray aside and threw off the blankets, and sat up. “Well,” he said, “let’s get started.”

“Started doing what?” If they’d come up with a plan of attack, he’d missed it. 

“You’re going to see Kathy, of course. Do you think she misses me?” Q stood, snapped his fingers and was instantly dressed in his red captain’s uniform.

Tom sighed. “Well, I’m going to take a few minutes,” he grumped as he headed for the shower.

“Hurry!” Q called. “Time is fleeting, or fleet of foot, or whatever.”

Tom did hurry through his sonic shower. He cleaned his teeth, finger-combed his hair, then pulled on a clean uniform. He was thinking. Instead of trying to open a Borg conduit, B’Elanna should concentrate on the coolant injectors. What had Vorik suggested? Reconfiguring them? The last time he’d talked to the captain, he’d convinced her to put off the test, but the core had breached anyway, killing them all. Not this time, Tom vowed. _Not this, Time._

~~

He paced, trying to figure out what he could possibly say to Janeway for her to believe him. The situation was ridiculous! Q had been gone when he came out of the shower, and Tom was relieved. If he couldn’t help, he’d rather not have him hanging around, hindering. 

The lift doors opened and he burst onto the bridge, striding up to the bar that backed onto the command chairs. “Captain!” he called, “I need to speak with you immediately.”

She swiveled in her chair and drew back slightly, taking in his dishevelled state, his slightly wild eyes. “Mister Paris,” she acknowledged, “you look somewhat frazzled this morning.” 

Tom snorted. “You would, too, if you’ve had the week I’ve had,” he groused. “We need to talk, right now. Chakotay and Seven, too. And B’Elanna.” 

Janeway looked him up and down, and raised an eyebrow. From the corner of his eye he could see Tuvok step away from his console and start to move toward him. “Tuvok, you too,” Tom said. “Now!” he stressed, impatience overriding his natural tendency to beguile. “Before they get here.” He gripped the rail, his knuckles showing white. 

“Before who get here?” Janeway asked. Before he could answer she held up a hand. “In my ready room, Tom. How about just us until I see what this is all about, hmm? Maybe then we can go to red alert.” She rose and strode toward the door nodding at Tuvok as she passed. 

Tom barely waited for the doors to close behind him before he started talking. “Captain, in a couple of minutes a ship is going to appear. They’re refugees, and they’re going to ask for supplies.” He drew a breath and she took the opportunity to quiz him.

“How do you know that, Tom?” 

“Because it’s—” He laughed, “because it’s happened every time,” he said. 

She tilted her head in that way she had when she was puzzling out a mystery. “What do you mean, every time? Maybe you should sit down, Tom.”

“There’s no time to sit down, Captain!” He started to pace instead. “You have to listen to me. They’re called the Caatati. They were attacked by the Borg, and there are only a few hundred of them left on a couple of dozen ships. They’re dangerous. They’re going to take the warp core after B’Elanna has to eject it.”

“Eject the core? Why would B’Elanna eject the core?”

“Because of the tachyon particles.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair, and Kathryn gained a new appreciation of why he looked so shaggy. “Tachyon particles? Tom, are you feeling alright? You’re not making any sense. Maybe the Doctor—”

“No! Another time, when I told you, you called the doc but he couldn’t find any evidence.”

“Another time when you told me…?”

“This is going to sound crazy but, I swear to you, _I'm not_. I’m stuck in a time loop.”

She focused on him for a moment and Tom knew she didn’t believe him. “Tom, I’ve had some pretty realistic dreams myself since we’ve been here. There’s something about the Delta Quadrant that seems to inspire them. And your story does sound a little—”

“I’m not crazy!” He shouted, then paused. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t a dream. I’ve been reliving the same day over and over and over. This,” he laughed again, “this is the second time we’ve had this conversation, Captain. But I think I figured it out. I think I’ve already stopped the loop.” 

“Okay. Suppose I believe you. If you’ve stopped the time loop, then everything will be fine, right?” 

“I...I don’t know. Once, we couldn’t get the core back. It exploded and we died.”

“ _Voyager_ exploded?” Janeway’s eyebrows rose. 

“No,” Tom stressed. “Well, yes, because B’Elanna wouldn’t leave engineering.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “The other time, B’Elanna and I, we take a shuttle and go after the core. But the Caatati have a tractor beam on it and it’s unstable. When it explodes, we’re caught up in the blast. Then, I wake up in my quarters and the whole thing starts again.”

“So, you die every time?”

“No!” he chuffed a laugh. “Just three times.” Janeway raised an eyebrow, but he ignored her look of shock. “The shuttle explodes, but B’Elanna and I beamed into space in our EV suits, and just before we run out of oxygen _Voyager_ arrives and you rescue us.”

Janeway opened her mouth to respond but Tom cut her off with a slashing motion of his hand. “But that’s not the point! That doesn’t matter. If we deal with the Caatati now, right away, they can’t take the core.”

Janeway shook her head. “But none of this explains why B’Elanna had to eject the warp core.”

“Has. Has to dump the core. Will have to.” Tom sighed. “Chakotay is going to suggest opening a transwarp conduit. It won’t work. There’s going to be an accident, and the core will almost breach. Captain, I know this all sounds crazy but you have to believe me.”

The door chime sounded and Tom turned toward it in frustration. “Come,” Janeway called. Seven entered and stopped abruptly, raising an eyebrow at Tom. 

“Lieutenant Paris.” She tilted her head to the right slightly as she acknowledged him. “Are you unwell?”

“No. Yes.” He laughed and scrubbed his face. He’d forgotten to shave, and the stubble on his chin pricked his palms. “I don’t know anymore,” he mumbled into his hands. Suddenly he whipped his head up and toward to her. “Species 3112!” he shouted. Seven stared at him serenely. “The Caatati, they’re species 3112.” 

Her eyebrow rose. “How could you know that?” she asked. 

“Because you told me, will tell me, once, when we’re on our way to engineering for the transwarp conduit test. One of them is walking with Tuvok, and when he sees you he recognizes you as Borg and tries to attack you. In another today, I ask you his species designation and you tell me! I forgot! I only asked once.”

“A bread crumb,” Janeway murmured.

Tom turned to face her, smiling. “Yes!” His face fell. “That was the time _Voyager_ exploded. I think. Or maybe it was the today after that...”

“Captain?” Seven interjected. 

“Sit down, Tom,” Janeway said. It was an order this time. “Seven of Nine, Chakotay tells me you want to work in engineering, is that right?” Tom’s head snapped up and he opened his mouth. She held up a hand to silence him. 

“Yes, Captain.” She stood, stiff and straight, in front of Janeway’s desk. Tom just stared at her. 

“Can we trust you?”

“I don’t understand, Captain.”

“Can we trust you not to attempt to contact the Borg again?” Her voice was like iron. 

“I can assure you, I will not.” 

Janeway nodded. “I've decided not to post a security detail while you're in  
engineering, but you have to realise there are rules. You'll be expected to follow our protocols. You'll report directly to Lieutenant Torres and obey any order she gives you.”

“I understand,” Seven said.

“Captain!” Tom interrupted. “You can’t let her try the transwarp test. It’s why the warp core starts to breach! It doesn’t work.”

“Captain, I don’t know what the Lieutenant is referencing. I have no intention of opening a transwarp conduit.”

“Good,” Tom muttered. 

“ _Chakotay to the captain._ ”

Janeway sighed and tapped her combadge. “Go ahead.”

“ _I spoke with B’Elanna about Seven of Nine and I had an idea. The Borg use transwarp conduits to travel through space far faster than our warp capability. I thought Seven of Nine might be able to come up with a plan, see if it’s possible for us to create one. We might be home next week._ ”

Janeway was listening to Chakotay but she was staring at Tom. “Hang on, Chakotay. Tom?”

He twirled a finger in the air and shook his head. 

“ _Tuvok to Captain Janeway._ ”

Janeway pursed her mouth and tapped her combadge. “Yes, Tuvok.”

“ _Please come to the bridge. A ship is approaching. It's damaged but functional. Energy emissions are so low it's probably not capable of warp speed. Several dozen lifesigns aboard_.”

“It’s them, Captain,” Tom said, “it’s the Caatati.”

“ _We are being hailed, Captain._ ”

Janeway nodded. “Open a channel. See who they are and what they want. I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Tom. “Any more advice, Tom?”

“Yes. Seven should stay away from them, stay off the bridge. I don’t know how but I’m sure her being a former Borg has something to do with them going after the core.”

“All right.” Janeway shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m going along with this. Seven, maybe you should stay in here while I talk to our visitors.”

“My designation is Seven of Nine.”

Janeway paused. “I suppose it is, but it’s a little cumbersome. Tom’s right, Seven suits you. Or, if you prefer, we could call you by your given name, Annika?”

“I have been Seven of Nine for as long as I can remember. It is inaccurate, however, Seven would be acceptable.”

“Good. Don’t go anywhere.” Janeway smiled at her and gestured to the couch under the viewport on the upper level of her ready room. “Why don’t you sit down while you’re waiting.”

Tom followed Janeway onto the bridge, but instead of taking his station he held back. It reminded him of when he first came aboard _Voyager_ as an observer. Not a pleasant memory. Jenkins glanced back at him, and he shook his head just slightly. She frowned, obviously puzzled, then devoted her attention to the conn.

Janeway sat in her chair and motioned to Tuvok to answer the hail. “Audio only. Let’s not show our hand just yet.” At Tuvok’s nod, she began. “I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager.” 

“I am Rahmin. My people are the Caatati. I apologise for the condition of our ship. Most of our people were assimilated by the Borg over a year ago. We lost everything.” 

His voice sounded thin and hesitant. Apologetic. And there was a hiss that came over the comm. Janeway glanced at Harry, who shook his head. The transmission was as clear as he could get it. 

“I see,” Janeway said. “How many of you escaped?”

“A few thousand on thirty ships. All that's left from a planet of millions.” 

Janeway glanced back at Tom. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Our people have had some dealings with the Borg ourselves. How can we be of help?”

Chakotay entered the bridge and made his way to his chair. He glanced at Tom, and his eyebrow went up in question. He looked harder and frowned, and touched his jaw. Tom resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. He bobbed his head; he’d get to it. 

“Captain, I want to assure you,” Rahmin continued, “my people were once proud and accomplished.”

“I understand.” Janeway glanced at Chakotay, nodded. 

“It pains me to have to ask this, but I have eighty-eight people to care for on this vessel. If you could hear the crying of the children. Their parents go without, and yet the children are still hungry. We need food, medicines. Is there any way you could help us?”

Tom wanted to ask him why, to ask him what happens to make him throw Janeway’s generosity back in their faces like he does when he takes the warp core. 

“Of course. Send us a list of your needs and we'll see what we can do.”

“I'm deeply grateful. If it's not too much to ask, is there any way you might also spare us a small quantity of thorium isotopes? Without them, our systems can't function.”

Was that a reasonable request, Tom wondered, or should it have been a tip off that nothing would satisfy him? Tom didn’t know. He folded his arms across his chest and frowned. 

“I think we can arrange that. I'll speak to my engineer.”

“You can't imagine what this means to us, Captain. “Thank you.”

“We’ll be in touch, Janeway out.”

Tuvok cut the channel, and Janeway turned to stare at Tom. Chakotay looked from one to the other. “Would anyone like to fill me in?”

The captain nodded, and tapped her combadge. “Janeway to Torres.”

“ _Torres here, Captain._ ”

“Have you been monitoring our communication with the Caatati vessel?”

“ _I have, Captain. I have Carey and Vorik working on the thorium production right now. It’ll take a few hours, but we can have enough to power their ship ready by this afternoon._ ”

“This afternoon?” 

B’Elanna hesitated, but Tom could hear the edge in her voice. She was pissed off about something. “ _We can’t exactly replicate it, Captain. It’ll take a while to modify the intermix ratio to produce thorium. And if we don’t have the plasma temperature just right—_ ”

“I do understand how this works, Lieutenant,” Janeway chided.

“ _Of course, Captain. I’ll let you know when it’s ready._ ”

“I’m sure you will.” The captain stood and glanced at Tom. “In the meantime, I want you report to the briefing room as soon as you can.”

“ _Of course, Captain. Torres out._ ” There was a note of puzzlement in her voice now, but it was better than the defeat he’d heard when the captain admonished her. 

Janeway stood. “Mister Rollins, please contact Neelix and fill him in. Ask him to gather whatever we can spare for the Caatati vessel. And contact the doctor and tell him to report to the briefing room immediately.”

~~ 

They were gathered around the briefing room table in their usual spots, but this time they’d been joined by Seven and the Doctor. They were sitting quietly waiting for B’Elanna to arrive, and Tom was watching the captain. She was frowning, pensive, and Tom wondered if she was thinking about Rahmin and his future betrayal. 

The door slid open and B’Elanna entered. She crossed quickly to her chair and sat. Tom could sense her impatience, and knew she didn’t want to waste time in a meeting. “Sorry I’m late.” She flicked a glance at Seven and frowned. Tom tried to catch her eye but she wouldn’t look at him. Oh well, she’d be staring at him in shock soon enough.

“Tom is about to tell you something, and let me preface this by saying that I was dubious at first, but now I have every faith in him, and I believe him.” Janeway nodded at him, and he blew out a breath and began. 

“About a week ago I woke up and it was the Day of Honor.” He sent B’Elanna an apologetic look, and caught the quick snap of her chin lifting, her head turning to stare at him. “When I woke up the next morning, it was still the Day of Honor. And the next, and the next. I’m in a time loop, but I think I’ve figured out how to fix it.”

“What does this have to do with the Day of Honor?” B’Elanna’s tone was accusing. Did she think he was making fun of her? Did she think this was some practical joke and the entire senior staff (plus Seven) were in on it?

“I know it’s difficult, but let’s hold off on the questions until he’s finished.” Janeway smiled at her, all was, apparently, forgiven.

Tom answered her anyway. “As far as I can tell, it has nothing to do with the Day of Honor.” _Or maybe everything._ He took a deep breath. “The Caatati have asked us for supplies, and that’s reasonable. But later today, they’ll be back. And they’ll take more than leeola root and some emergency ration packs.

“Engineering is having problems with the coolant assembly this morning: the injectors are rupturing resulting in a coolant leak. And with two of your staff out sick, you’re kind of swamped.” B’Elanna’s eyebrow climbed, and Tom sent her a small smile. “Chakotay has an idea to try to open a transwarp conduit with Seven’s help.”

B’Elanna’s mouth opened in objection, but Tom cut her off. He had her full attention now. “B’Elanna assigns Vorik to set up a temporary tachyon matrix in the main deflector. We try the test, but no matter what I change, something goes wrong every time. Tachyons flood the warp core and it starts to breach.”

B’Elanna’s eyes went round, and Tom shook his head in apology. “We can’t stop it, and you end up ejecting the core. Once, we’re too late and the core breaches and _Voyager_ explodes.”

There was a ripple of reaction around the table. “In the other timelines, B’Elanna and I take out the _Cochrane_ to go pick it up, and I mention that because even when I try to take out another shuttle,” he shook his head, “it’s always the _Cochrane_.”

“A fixed point,” Chakotay murmured.

Tom nodded. “Like the Caatati appearing and the warp core breach. Once, I convinced the captain not to do the test, but a cascade failure in the coolant injectors—”

“Made the core breach anyway,” B’Elanna finished.

“Yeah.” Tom gathered his thoughts. “We find the warp core, but by the time we get there, the Caatati have a tractor beam on it.” B’Elanna’s mouth dropped open and he nodded. “Once, that causes it to breach and we die.”

There was a short silence while they all contemplated that, then Harry spoke. “And the other times?”

Tom laughed. “The _Cochrane_ explodes.”

“Sounds like something is out to get you,” Harry quipped.

“Or the shuttle.” Tom shrugged, and caught B’Elanna’s quick grin. He smiled back.

“Without evidence, it is illogical to suggest that Lieutenant Paris is the victim of a malicious entity,” Tuvok added. 

“Why does the shuttle explode?” Chakotay was leaning across the table, staring at Tom intently.

Tom glanced at him. “B’Elanna tries to disrupt their tractor beam with a particle beam. It starts to work, but they send an antimatter pulse back, and it hits us like a phaser blast. It compromises the structural integrity of the shuttle and we have just enough time to suit up and beam out before it’s ripped apart.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You were lucky you weren’t hit by the debris.” At the look on Tom’s face, he said, “Oh.”

“How many times did we die?” B’Elanna asked. 

Tom looked at her and smiled. “Just three.” 

She burst into laughter, and Tom grinned. “I know. It’s absurd.”

“If we’re allowed to ask questions now, I want to know how soon Mister Paris can report to sickbay so I can examine him.” The doctor’s tone held it’s usual dose of acerbity. 

“I know you have all those new psychological subroutines, doc, but I’m not crazy. And you’re not going to find any temporal evidence. You’ve already tried.”

“What new subroutines?” B’Elanna’s voice rose. “You can’t just add to your program!”

“Okay, enough.” Janeway rose and made a placating gesture with her hands. “Tom, you’ve had time to think about this, is there anything else you’d do differently?”

“We need to get out of this region of space as quickly as we can, Captain. In one timeline, three more ships show up later. I’m in the brig, so I don’t know what happens, but—”

“You were in the brig?!” 

“Why were you in the brig?” 

“I’d really rather not…” B’Elanna was staring at him again, and Tom realized he didn’t want her to know. He was afraid of what she would think of him. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now, it didn’t work.”

“Doctor,” Janeway addressed him. “The Caatati have asked for any medicines you can spare.”

“Well, I don’t know. I’d have to examine them. I can’t risk giving them something that will harm them!” He was incensed, as if the captain had suggested he poison them deliberately. 

“Captain, I wouldn’t let them any farther than the transporter room,” Tom warned. 

“That won’t do. I'll need to run extensive tests—”

“It’ll have to do, Doctor. I’m not willing to risk this ship, the lives of her crew, in an act of charity. Seven, you’ve been quiet, do you have anything to add?”

“What would you like to know, Captain?”

“Anything you think we should know. Anything that might help us.”

“The Caatati were assimilated by the Borg approximately a year ago. Apparently some of them escaped. They live...lived in family groups in cities, and had...have a hierarchy and a system of appointed, representative government that bears similarities to Starfleet.”

Janeway’s lips quirked in a smile. 

“They are technologically advanced, and warp capable.” Seven paused. “Apparently they are also capable of deception, and carry a lingering resentment toward the Borg, and a desire for revenge.”

“I wonder why,” B’Elanna murmured.

“Okay.” Janeway straightened. “We’ll gather supplies for them, then we’ll get the hell out of here as quickly as we can. Tom, I want you plot a course for where the Caatati are not.” Tom nodded. “B’Elanna, let me know when the thorium is ready. I’m not willing to put _Voyager_ at risk for any longer than we have to. You have two hours to manufacture as much as you can, and it will have to do.”

“Captain,” Seven interrupted. “When the Borg assimilated the Caatati the survivors lost their ability to replicate the isotopes, but I have retained that knowledge. I could design an energy matrix that would produce thorium in large quantities.”

Chakotay frowned. “If you've had this knowledge all along, why didn't you say so?”

“I am not accustomed to thinking that way. Borg do not consider giving technology away, only assimilating it.”

Janeway snorted. “Fine, Seven. Why don’t you and Harry get started on that.” She looked around the table. “And let’s not spread this among the crew. Dismissed.”

Tom looked toward B’Elanna, hoping to catch her eye, but she was on her feet and out the door without looking at him. Tom rose out of his chair to follow her, but Chakotay stopped him.

“Tom, why don’t you take a few minutes before you join us on the bridge.” He raised his hand and touched his jaw. 

_Of course,_ Tom thought, _fixed points._ Though why Chakotay cared so much about the state of his beard, he didn’t know.

Tom followed B’Elanna out of the briefing room and caught up with her just before she entered the turbolift. “Hey,” he said, catching her arm.

“Hey.” She looked at him, glanced away. 

“Umm… I know you’re busy but I was wondering if you’re going to go through with it.”

She looked back at him, confused. “Go through with what?” 

“The programme. The Day of Honor.”

She stared at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he had. “I… No. This refit will take hours as it is, and two of my engineers called in sick this morning. There’s no way I’ll have time.”

“Oh. Yeah. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

She shook her head. “I’ll probably still be working.” His disappointment must have shown on his face because she softened. “I might be able to. I doubt it, but I’ll let you know.”

“Oh. Okay.” He’d have to accept it, besides, Marseilles wasn’t going anywhere. 

She looked at him, scrunching up her forehead and wrinkling her nose. She touched his arm and it tingled from elbow to fingertips. “This is real. You’re not just…” 

“Yeah. It’s real,” he said. 

“And we really all die when the core breaches?” He nodded. B’Elanna shuddered, and he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her elbow. 

“It’s not your fault,” he insisted. “I won’t let that happen again.”

“So it’s your fault,” she grinned. He smiled back.

“I know I stopped it this time. I’m certain it was the loose tachyons from the test. If we don’t do the test, we’re safe.”

“Okay.” 

He let go of her arm, stepped back, and she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, making him pause. “Tom, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did. I know you put a lot of time into the programme and I’m sure it’s great, but—”

“No, it’s okay. We can try it tomorrow.”

She laughed. “Tomorrow’s not the Day of Honor.”

“There’s always next year,” he shrugged. He pretended it didn’t bother him, but it did. That programme had been his gift to her; he wanted to know what she thought of it. 

“If we can figure out that Borg conduit, we won’t be here next year.” She stared at him, and Tom was tempted to say he’d be anywhere she wanted him to be next year, all she had to do was ask. She reached up and trailed a finger down his cheek. “I’m surprised Chakotay hasn’t ordered you to shave.”

Tom smiled and leaned against her finger just a little. “He just did. I was kinda in a hurry this morning. Oh!” He suddenly remembered, “I forgot your helm evaluation.”

B’Elanna shrugged and dropped her hand, stepped away from him. “That’s okay. I won’t have—”

“Have time,” Tom finished. 

“I’ve got to…” 

She gestured to the ‘lift and Tom nodded. “Think about that dinner.” He watched her step into the ‘lift, watched her give him a little wave just as the doors closed. 

~~ 

When Tom arrived on the bridge, hair combed, face shaved, Baytart had relieved a likely exhausted Jenkins. Since he’d had nothing but one strip of bacon for breakfast, Tom had taken the opportunity to snatch a quick bowl of porridge while he plotted their route _out of Dodge,_ so his stomach wasn’t rumbling like it had been during the briefing. He was on his way to the helm when Chakotay stopped him. Now what?

“Tom, the captain would like to see you in her ready room.”

Tom inclined his head and changed course. “Of course.” He couldn’t imagine what else he could add, but if the captain wanted to quiz him, it was fine with him. He rang the chime, and the doors parted. Tom had taken three steps into the room when he saw Q regally reclined on the couch below the captain’s viewport. Oops!

“Tommy! Good to see you again. I see you managed to get dressed on your own.”

“Would you care to explain to me, Mister Paris, why you didn’t feel it necessary to inform me that we had an intruder on board?”

Tom cringed. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?!” Q’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “I’m wounded. And to think I shared my breakfast with you!”

“He said he had nothing to do with the time loop, Captain, and that he couldn’t fix it. So it just sort of slipped my mind.” Q _harrumphed_. “Besides, I was more concerned with what I would say to make you believe me.”

“Well,” she said, “Caatati was the magic word.” 

“But you didn’t really believe me until they showed up, until their leader asked for help.”

She stared at him, assessing him. “And we lost some valuable time. You’re right, I didn’t want to believe it. Sorry, Tom.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure I would have believed me either.”

“Maybe you need a code word!” Q jumped up from the couch and paced toward them. “Like, Q the Magnificent, or Kathy, My Dearest.” 

Janeway rolled her eyes. “Though,” she said, “that’s not a bad idea, in case you haven’t stopped it.” 

“I can tell you the name of Harry’s first crush,” Tom offered with a grin.

She smiled. “It would have to be something I already know.”

“Sooo,” Tom thought, “the name of your first crush?” His eyes twinkled at her. 

“Does it start with a Q?” Q asked. 

Janeway ignored him. She raised an eyebrow. Her lips twisted. “Is this all some ploy to get me to reveal my deepest darkest secrets? Really, Tom, do you have some wager on this?”

“Captain, I’m wounded. It has to be something that nobody else knows. Something I can’t look up in the database.”

“Well…” She threw up her hands. “All right. It was Patrick… Patrick, what?” Her brow wrinkled as she tried to remember the surname of a boy she hadn’t thought about in thirty years.

“Hutchens,” sighed Q. “And if I’d known that big brown eyes and blonde hair and a permanent confused expression would win your heart, I’d have altered my appearance a year ago.”

Janeway turned to stare at him. “How is little q, by the way?”

“Growing like a weed.” Q exuded fatherly pride.

“Really?” He asked Janeway. “Patrick Hutchens?” Did the captain just _blush_?

“I was nine,” she said, pointedly. “And he did have big brown eyes. I remember once, he missed school because he had to stay home with the cows.” She looked dreamy for a moment, then snapped back to the present. “You can take your post, Mister Paris, and if I hear one word about this…”

“My lips are sealed, Captain,” Tom grinned. “After all, a secret codeword isn’t much good if it’s not a secret!” _But we’re not going to need it,_ he thought, _I must have fixed it this time._

~~ 

Neelix had gathered several hundred kilos of foodstores for the Caatati ship, enough to feed them for a few weeks if they were judicious with their servings. The doctor had scanned Rahmin and pronounced that their food and medicines wouldn’t harm his species, and had even replicated some vitamin supplements. Harry and Seven took practically no time at all to produce a device that would allow the survivors to create their own tachyon isotopes, and had uploaded the schematics to their computer so they could make more. They were just waiting on B’Elanna. 

Abiding by Tom’s warning, the captain hadn’t allowed Rahmin any further than the transporter room, and had stuck with audio only communication. No reason to tempt him with _Voyager’s_ apparent wealth. In contrast to the Caatati vessel, _Voyager’s_ crew lived in luxury. 

Tom was feeling cautiously optimistic. He had already laid in the new course that would take them far from the Caatati’s corner of the quadrant, and in a few minutes, they’d be on their way. He’d even thought to zip to the hololab at lunch and tone down the painsticks, just in case B’Elanna had time for the programme later this evening. Things were going well. Things would go well. He had beaten it, he was sure.

~~

They’d been flying at warp two for the last six hours, unwilling to push the core too far while engineering was realinging the coolant assembly. So far, so good. No spikes in pressure, no leaks, no problems. They’d had to backtrack a bit, but Tom had plotted a course that took them up and around (space went out in 360 degrees, after all), so they were still headed in the general direction of the Alpha Quadrant. He’d basically put the Caatati to their backs, and run.

He was sitting in the mess, frowning into a plate of ‘pasta’, thinking about B’Elanna. As she’d predicted, the realignment was taking all day. He’d commed her earlier, asking about dinner, trying not to push, not to beg, beating down the desire to suggest dinner at eight, or ten, or whenever she was off. She was already tired, he could hear it in her voice. 

“ _I’m sorry, Tom, but when we’re finished here I think I’ll just go back to my quarters and go straight to bed. I want to get this day over with. Maybe tomorrow night?_ ”

He’d agreed, cheerfully. What else could he do? He’d arrived in the mess just as Chell and Henley were leaving, and Chell stopped him in the doorway and told him his joke. Tom let him, and laughed at the punchline, and briefly wondered if it was called a punchline because it was so dumb it made the audience want to punch something.

Neelix had served up a plate of pasta with lutdy sauce, apologizing because it didn’t include the fresh m’binda bark he’d intended to add (he’d given it to the Caatati refugees instead), and Tom had smiled and nodded and commented that it couldn’t have gone to a more deserving cause and, though he’d pine the loss of it, he’d muckle through somehow. Neelix was relieved. 

And so he sat, twirling his fork in his pasta and thinking about B’Elanna snuggled up in her bed… 

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on a date with B’Elanna?”

“Harry,” Tom acknowledged. Harry slid his tray onto the table and plopped onto the seat opposite him. “Pleeka rind casserole?” Tom wrinkled his nose. 

“Harry shrugged. “I like it. Neelix saved me some from yesterday.”

“I’m sure he had to put a mag lock on the cooler to keep it safe.” Tom secretly thought that Neelix should have given it and his entire store of leola root to the Caatati as well. It would serve them right.

“So, what happened to your date?”

“The coolant assembly,” Tom grumped. “After what I said this morning, she wants to oversee the whole thing, start to finish.”

“Then run at least two simulations to make sure she got all the bugs out.” Harry nodded. He leaned toward Tom conspiratorially. “Freddy Bristow isn’t your competition, the warp core is.”

Tom snorted. The phrase _love me, love my dog_ popped into his head though, in B’Elanna’s case, it was _love me, love my warp core, and my coolant injectors, and my phase coils, and my isolinear chips._ which gave Tom an idea… 

He grinned at Harry. “Tell me about that new clarinet composition you’re working on, Harry.” He had time. 

“How did you—” Harry began. “Oh yeah.”

~~

He found her in Jefferies tube eighty-four section three, a little grimey, a little tired, and completely absorbed in her work. He had to call her name twice before she heard him. He’d learned: you don’t startle a Klingon, even a half-Klingon. It was warm in the tube and she’d stripped off her jacket and turtleneck, and was just wearing her ‘fleet issue tank. Tom saw a sliver of black bra straps trail up and over her toned shoulders. He started to sweat. 

He slipped a pack off of his shoulders and reached inside, pulling out two containers. “For you,” he said, offering her a mug of iced raktajino and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (pleeka rind marmalade, which Tom loathed but B’Elanna loved for some inexplicable reason considering her sweet tooth).

“Thanks.” She smiled wearily at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You had to cancel dinner but you still have to eat.” Tom shrugged. 

She placed the mug on the floor beside her, then leaned against the tube wall and took a bite of the sandwich. “Mmmmm. I’m starving!” Tom settled in across from her and lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t it realize it until I saw the food.” She was pensive for a moment, then glanced back at him. “You know, we have it pretty good here. We aren’t actually starving. If we’re ever hungry, it’s because we’ve skipped a meal.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine being on their ship, broken down, no supplies, with children… I keep thinking about Naomi Wildman.” 

Tom reached out and touched her knee. “Any one of us would skip a meal or ten to keep Naomi fed. Sam knows that. Naomi has a hundred and forty honorary aunts and uncles.” He smiled and B’Elanna smiled back. 

“Still. We have sixty years left. Anything could happen. Next year, next month, we could be in the same position. With a run of bad luck, we could be them.”

Tom sighed. “We’ve all been thinking it.”

She finished her sandwich and took a big gulp of the coffee, eyeing him over the rim of the cup. “So,” she said, “are you volunteering to help me or are you just here to be ornamental?”

Tom slipped off his jacket and pushed up his sleeves. He reached into the bag and pulled out a hyperspanner and a packet of isolinear chips. “Your wish is my command, Lieutenant.” 

She smiled.

~~

Tom lay in bed, bone tired but fighting sleep. He and B’Elanna had finished up in the Jefferie’s tube, then he had followed her to main engineering where she’d assigned him to help Dalby with a phase coil bypass in the port nacelle. Ken was an okay guy, quiet but friendly enough. He had once sought Tom out and given him a startling raw shot of moonshine, after Sakeri IV. Tom still didn’t know if B’Elanna was aware of the still, or where it was located. It was right up Carey’s alley to be the culprit, but he hadn’t ruled out any of the former Maquis. 

They’d talked about nothing much in particular, both of them tired and concentrating on not making a mistake. Ken had referenced the Caatati’s situation, and said a Bajoran prayer under his breath. When Tom glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, he’d said, “B’Elanna frowns on me actually spitting the Devil in the eye” and Tom had laughed. 

“Computer, what’s the time?”

::The time is twenty three hundred hours forty-seven minutes::

Fifteen more minutes and he would know. Fifteen minutes and he could go on with his life. Tom smiled and let his eyelids close; as long as he stayed awake, it wouldn’t hurt to rest his eyes. 

He thought about B’Elanna in her regulation undershirt, thought of her toned arms and caramel coloured skin. Remembered her with dirt on her face, and dead leaves in her hair, remembered her heat, the sultry look in her eyes, her mouth on his. He thought about rolling with her on the ground, her slim, strong body rising up beneath him, her firm breasts pressed to his chest. How he’d ached for her when she’d kissed him. He slept, and dreamed that she loved him.


	9. 9th Waking

_We see that Time robs us, we know that he cheats. But still we find a charm in his pleasant deceits._

~ Oliver Wendell Holmes, “Our Banker”, 1874

~~~ 

** _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ **

Tom woke with a start and cursed in Klingon. Then he remembered how yesterday’s today began, and froze. He cautiously reached out a hand and felt the space in the bed next to him. Empty. He exhaled in relief. He threw off the blankets, swung his legs off the bed, and sat hunched, elbows on knees, as he scrubbed his face with his palms. Now what? He’d tried everything. Well, everything but nothing. It briefly crossed his mind to lie back down, pull the blankets up over his head, and go back to sleep. He’d have another chance tomorrow. Today. The next today. He sighed. 

“So dramatic,” Q observed dryly. 

Tom started. He snapped his head up and saw Q seated on his sofa, legs crossed demurely. He was buffing his nails. 

Tom stood and pointed an accusatory finger. “You said you were going to help me!” he shouted.

Q glanced at him lazily, glanced back to his fingernails. “I have. I brought my paramour.” He gestured toward Tom's dining area, and the female _Q_ sent him a little wave. She was seated at the table, enjoying a fancy looking coffee and a plate of scones. Tom frowned. 

She picked up the coffee cup, pinky finger extended, sipped, smiled. “Mmm, delicious. What’s this called, again?”

“Raktajino,” Tom gritted. He could tell from the scent.

“Don’t you just love Klingon…things?” She smiled sweetly at him. 

“What are you doing here?” Tom asked. He was tired, he was cranky, he was fed up. He not in the mood for either Q. Omnipotent beings who couldn’t help him were useless to him. 

“Why, we’re here to celebrate the Day of Honor, of course,” Q said. He set aside the buffer and admired the shine on his fingernails.

“Why do you care about the Day of Honor?” Tom was starting to get an inkling that something wasn’t right, not that _any_ thing that had occurred in the last week could be considered right. 

“Oh, it’s all fascinating,” _Lady Q_ drawled. “Their holidays, their family ‘houses’, all that leather armour. The breasts. The teeth.” She smiled. “That Klingon girlfriend of yours is particularly intriguing, don’t you agree?”

“Half-Klingon,” Tom said.

“The best half,” _Lady Q_ drawled.

Tom frowned. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he sighed. _And at this rate, she never will be._

“But you wish she were,” Q stated. 

“In fact,” _Lady Q_ added, “you’ve _wished_ she were.”

Tom froze. He couldn’t deny it, he had. It was possible he’d even wished it out loud. “Are you saying that all this,” he waved a hand toward the ceiling, the door, “is your way of granting my wish? Is all of this _your_ fault?!” He was aware that his voice had risen, but he didn’t care. He stomped toward her, furious, disbelieving, but she wasn’t cowed in the least. 

She took another sip of her Klingon coffee and peered at him over the rim. “Well, you didn’t expect me to just hand her to you, did you? She’s plucky. She has a lot of spunk. I like her.” She looked Tom up and down, from his tousled hair to his bare feet. “I thought you should have to pass at least a simple test to win her favours.”

Tom’s hands clenched at his sides. “Tell me what I have to do.”

She put the mug down on the table with a click and swung around in the chair, the better to regard him. “Well, for a start, you could get rid of that awful shirt.”

Tom tilted his head downward and stared at his faded red t-shirt. He frowned. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“Aside from the fact that it makes you look frumpy and florid, nothing.”

Tom leaned over her, placing his left hand on the back of her chair and his right palm flat on the tabletop. “Tell me how to stop the time loop or I’ll…” Really, what could he do to an omnipotent being besides amuse her some more?

“Tommy, are you menacing my mate?”

Tom straightened. “No. I’m pretty sure I’m not.” 

She laughed. “Think, helmboy, what haven’t you tried?”

He stared at her, frustration welling up again. “I…nothing! Blowing up the Caatati didn’t work.” 

Q snorted. “You can try blowing up _Voyager_ , that might work. Oh, wait, you already did that.”

Tom glared at him, and Q made a ‘go on’ gesture with his hands. “Changing the parameters of the test didn’t work,” Tom continued. “Warning the captain and not doing the test didn’t work! I’ve tried everything. Tell me what you want me to do!”

“You are both idiots,” _Lady Q_ asserted. 

“Look, we can’t all be Captain Obvious,” Tom snapped. 

“More like Captain Obfuscate,” Q grumbled.

“Please,” Tom said, “I’m begging here. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

 _Lady Q_ sighed. “Men. You’re all the same. Can’t see your nose for your face. Think about it, helmboy. What did you do wrong? What did you _say_ wrong?”

Tom frowned. 

“Oh, for my sakes!” she sighed. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, frustrated with both of them. “Think back to that first day. You’re floating in space, she’s literally sharing her last breath with you…?”

Tom shook his head. “Please, I can’t take this anymore,” he begged. “If you know what I need to say, now would be a great time to… tell… me…” Tom paused. He stilled.

“I think he has it,” Q said, sounding hopeful. 

“Finally,” _Lady Q_ sniffed. 

Tom grinned and reached for her. He picked her up with a whoop! and swung her in a circle, her hair flying. “If you kiss me, I’ll turn you into a newt!” she screeched.

“Been there, done that,” Tom laughed as he set her down. He’d wasted enough time. He had to get to engineering, now. He decided to skip his shower, and that he didn't care about his hair. He pulled a clean uniform from his closet and was about to pull his t-shirt over his head when he remembered his audience. He turned to find them both sitting primly on his bed. “Do you mind?” he asked. 

“But I was looking forward to… fine,” _Lady Q_ snapped her fingers. 

Tom found himself fully dressed right down to his boots. “Thanks,” he said, already on his way to the door. 

“Run!” Q shouted as the doors to his quarters closed behind him.

And Tom thought as he jogged toward the lift, _if they wanted to, they could just pop me into engineering_.

~~ 

“I don't understand.” Vorik was saying, trailing behind B’Elanna. “Why wait until tomorrow? Today would be a much better—”

“Not today, Vorik,” Tom said, coming up between them and grasping B’Elanna by the elbow. 

“Tom!” she exclaimed, attempting to yank her arm free. He held on. 

“Come on,” he said, pulling her toward her office. 

“What is with you?” she asked, looking him up and down. “And where’s your helm evaluation? I need that—”

“I’ll get it later. It doesn’t matter.” They were attracting attention but he didn’t care. Let them look. He strode into her office pulling her behind him and as soon as they were inside he turned and slid an arm around her back, pulling her close. He cupped her cheek, anchoring her in his arms, and kissed her. 

She froze for a moment, then leaned into him, kissing him back, her hands fisting on his chest, her lips soft and responsive under his. After a few seconds, she pulled away and stared at him. “Tom, what are you doing?” 

Her voice was breathy, and she looked totally confused. He grinned and kissed her again, bumping his fingertips along her forehead ridges, wanting to kiss them too, threading his fingers through her hair. “I love you!” he said when he came up for air. Her eyes went round and her mouth dropped open, and he took the invitation and kissed her a third time, short and quick. “And I know you love me, too.” And just for a second he felt doubt claw at him. “You do love me, right?” 

She nodded just slightly. “Yes.” 

He wanted to shout with glee. He smiled instead. “We can do the programme together. Or not at all,” Tom waffled. “You were right, it’s all meaningless.” And he finally understood: it wasn’t about the painsticks or the disgusting wine or eating the sanctified heart of targ, it was about facing your fears and overcoming them. It was about admitting what was in your own heart, and doing your best for the people you loved. 

He cupped her face again, and caressed her cheekbones with his thumbs. She was the most important person in the universe to him, he realized. He’d live this day a thousand times to keep her safe. He pushed his fingers into her hair, loving it’s silky softness. “It’s what we do now that matters. And what I’m going to do now is kiss you again.”

She raised up on her toes as she slid her palms up his chest and around his neck. He lowered his mouth to hers, and his hand grazed her shoulder, her ribs, and dropped to her waist as he fitted her more snuggly against him. 

“Hey, chief, I have the whoops!” 

Tom and B’Elanna sprang apart as Joe Carey backed out of the room. She looked at Tom and laughed. “Good thing that wasn’t Henley,” B’Elanna said with a grin. 

Tom caught her again and pulled her close, pressed his forehead to hers. She raised a hand to his cheek, scratching her fingernails against his morning stubble. “You didn't shave,” she said. She tilted her head and pressed her mouth to his jaw, scraping her teeth along his whiskers, nuzzling his cheek. “I like it.”

Tom felt a zing of pleasure shoot through him. He almost laughed remembering how careful he was shaving the first couple of times he’d lived this day, thinking that would impress her. He was about to kiss her again when her combadge chirped.

“ _Carey to Torres. Head’s up, boss. Commander Chakotay is looking for you._ ”

Tom stepped away from her, gliding his hand down her arm from shoulder to elbow. He let go just as Chakotay stepped into the office. 

The commander nodded at Tom, shifted his gaze to B’Elanna. “B’Elanna?” 

Tom acknowledged the commander and, as he slipped between them heading for the door, he leaned down and spoke in her ear, “I’ve got your back.” Her expression was quizzical, but Tom just smiled and left. He was in a hurry to get to the bridge; he had to warn the captain about the Caatati. 

He raced through engineering and, luckily, the lift arrived and disgorged Jarvin and Chell before he could press the call button. Chell was in the middle of his joke. “A tachyon walks into a bar!” Tom said with a laugh, and Chell frowned. 

“Hey, that was my—” 

The lift doors closed and Tom called for the bridge. He slapped his commbadge. “Paris to Janeway. Meet me in your ready room.”

There was a pause, then she responded, her tone dry, “ _Well certainly, Admiral. And may I express the sentiments of my entire crew in welcoming you to_ Voyager _. Tell me, how did you get here, and can we make it home the same way_?”

Tom winced. “Please, Captain. Assemble the senior staff. And keep Seven with you, she needs to hear this too.”

“ _How do you know Seven of Nine is with me_?”

He could see her expression in his mind’s eye, could picture her eyebrow climbing up her forehead. “Because she was before. Because she probably always is.” The captain was quiet, so Tom brought out the only weapon he had to convince her. “We need to talk about Patrick Hutchens and his cows.” It was a longshot, she hadn’t remembered his last name yesterday, and it was possible she wouldn’t remember him at all today. And Janeway might not believe that she had told him, might assume that he had snooped in her file, or pried the information from his father, as if! 

“ _Patrick Hutchens_ …?” she said, her voice soft.

“When you were nine,” Tom replied. 

“ _How could you possibly know that_?” she demanded.

The lift stopped and Tom strode into her ready room. She faced him, hands on her hips, jaw jutted at an angle that warned him to be cautious. 

“Because you told me the last time.” He chuckled, and she frowned. 

Janeway shook her head. “I can’t imagine any time when my fourth grade crush would come up in conversation,” she said wryly. 

Tom smiled. “Have you heard Chell’s latest joke? The bartender says, we don’t serve your kind here.”

“A tachyon walks into a bar,” Janeway finished. “Oh no.”

It was Seven’s turn to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. “Captain?”

“We’re caught in a temporal loop?” Janeway asked and Tom nodded. 

“I seem to be the only one who knows.”

Janeway nodded and started to pace. “How long?” she asked.

“A week?” Tom shrugged. “Maybe ten days? I’ve lost count. But we don’t have time for me to explain it all twice.”

Janeway looked him up and down and nodded, then pressed her combadge. “Janeway to the senior staff. Come to the briefing room immediately.”

Tom turned on his heel and headed out the door to the bridge. Tuvok was stepping away from his post, and Tom heard the question in his voice as he greeted the captain. Harry walked out of the ‘lift, his eyes going round as he glanced at Tom and took in his disheveled appearance. Tom knew he looked like hell. Well, Harry would too if he’d had the week Tom had. 

They settled themselves around the briefing room table, and Tom tapped its surface with his fingertips, exuding nervous energy. The Doctor entered, frowning once he caught sight of Tom, followed by Chakotay and B’Elanna, and Tom tracked her as she walked to the table and sat in her usual spot beside Chakotay. His belly tightened and he felt a warmth suffuse him. It calmed him, focused him. She glanced at Seven, looked back at Tom, a question in her eyes. 

“What’s this all about?” Chakotay asked.

Janeway waved a hand at Tom, and he leaned forward in his seat. 

“In a few minutes we’re going to get a hail from a ship,” Tom continued. “The Caatati, species 3112.” He nodded at Seven. She blinked at him. “They’re refugees, all that’s left of their civilization after the Borg attacked them.”

“How do you—”

“Please, Chakotay, there really isn’t time.” Tom cut him off, puffed a breath. “This will be hard to believe, but I’ve been caught in a time loop. I’ve lived today eight or nine times.” He looked over at B’Elanna. “This is the first time I think I’m doing it right.”

Everyone glanced at Janeway and she nodded. “I’m convinced.”

“They’re going to ask for supplies,” Tom continued, “food, water, medicines, fuel.”

The Doctor cut in. “I’m sure we can spare something, but I’d need to run a full medical diagnostic on them to be sure our medications are compatible with their physiology. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to look you over too, Lieutenant.”

Tom shook his head. “No offense, Doc, but the last time you did that it was pointless. It just wasted a lot of time. But that doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is, after we give them food and fuel, they’ll be back. And there’ll be more of them. We’re going to do a test,” he looked at Seven, “we’re going to try opening a transwarp conduit, and something will go wrong and we’ll end up dumping the core before it breaches.” He stopped and drew a breath, tried to remember a logical sequence of the events that were about to unfold. 

“I was just trying to convince Chakotay that’s it’s too dangerous,” B’Elanna said. She looked at Chakotay, looked back at Tom. “What happens?”

He smiled at her, his expression softening. “The core is flooded with tachyons. Nothing we do can stop it. We have to dump the core.” The look in her eyes made his gut clench. “We take a shuttle and go after it, but by the time we get there, the Caatati already have a tractor beam on it.”

B’Elanna looked shocked. “Who would be stupid enough to do that?! That’s incredibly dangerous!”

“Yeah,” Tom chuckled, “it is.” 

They shared another look and her eyes went round. “Is that why you came to…”

Tom just stared at her. Chakotay cleared his throat. “So, what happens then?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t really know. Once it blew up.” He glanced at her. “Once, we didn’t dump the core in time and it breached on _Voyager_ … It depends. But I think we can stop it before it goes that far. I think we _have_ to stop it before it goes that far.”

“By stopping the Caatati?” Seven said. 

Tom turned and looked at her. “I think so.” He nodded. “And by not trying the transwarp test.”

“The Caatati use thorium isotopes to fuel their vessels,” Seven stated. 

“Yes,” Tom’s head snapped up. “I’d forgotten that part. B’Elanna manufactures some and we give it to them. But it’s not enough for all of their ships. It’s only enough for...for… Damn, I forget his name.”

Seven spoke up. “Caatati technology is dependant on thorium isotopes. If they had enough they could become self-sustaining.”

“But we don't have that much thorium to give them,” Harry said. 

“No, we don’t,” Janeway said. “And we can’t make enough for their whole fleet.”

“When the Borg assimilated the Caatati, the survivors must have lost their ability to replicate the isotopes or they would not come asking for _Voyager’s_ help. I have retained that knowledge. I could design an energy matrix that would produce thorium in large quantities.”

Janeway looked at Tom. “Did we try that? Does it work?”

He shook his head. “We did, the last today. But I don’t know if it helped. We left their region of space right after. The other times, when they show up again, I’m either in the brig, or sedated in sickbay, or floating in space in an EV suit.”

B’Elanna’s head snapped up. “An EV suit!” 

Tom clamped his jaw shut; he didn’t intend to tell her about that. “Sometimes our shuttle blows up,” he admitted. 

“Why are you in the brig?” Harry asked.

“Long story, Harry,” Tom said.

“I’ve heard enough,” Janeway pronounced. She stood, signalling an end to the meeting. “Seven, B’Elanna, get started on the energy matrix. Tom, take the helm.” She caught his eye. “And I want you to let me know if things don’t go the way they’re supposed to.”

“ _Rollins to Captain Janeway_ ,” the lieutenant in charge of the bridge cut in.

“Yes?”

“ _We’re being hailed, Captain. They say they’re the Caatati, and are asking for any aid we can give them. Their ship is damaged, but functional. Low energy emissions, so I doubt they can go to warp. Weapons systems appear to be offline._.”

Tom heard several gasps around the table. Janeway’s eyes locked onto his. “How many life signs, Mister Rollins?”

“Eighty-eight,” Tom said. Rollins echoed him. “One more thing, Captain,” Tom said, “Seven needs to stay away from them. They’re not very forgiving of the Borg.” 

Janeway nodded. “Let’s get to it.” She, Tuvok, Harry, Chakotay and Tom all headed to the bridge, while B’Elanna, Seven and the Doctor took the other door to the corridor and the ‘lift. When they entered the bridge, they fanned out to their posts, and Tuvok waited for the captain's signal before he opened communications with their visitors. 

“I’m Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship _Voyager_. How can we be of help to you?”

“I am Rahmin.” The forward viewscreen filled with the image of a thin, ragged, slightly reptilian looking man with long limbs and sad eyes. He spoke slowly and precisely, his tone apologetic and morose. “My people are the Caatati. I apologise for our appearance and the condition of our ship. Most of our people were assimilated by the Borg over a year ago. We lost everything.”

Janeway frowned, compassion instantly swamping her, and traded a glance with Chakotay. She leaned closer to the front viewscreen. “How many of you escaped?”

“A few thousand on thirty ships,” Rahmin replied. “All that's left from a planet of millions.” 

“I'm sorry.” And she was. 

“Captain, I want to assure you, my people were once proud and accomplished,” Rahmin continued. 

Tom glanced back at her, and Kathryn noted the set of his jaw, the tension in his back and shoulders. “I understand,” she said. She cut to the chase. “How can we help you?”

“It pains me to have to ask this, but I have eighty-eight people to care for on this vessel. We need food, medicines. Is there any way you could help us?” He was the portrait of an object of pity. 

“Of course. Send us a list of your needs and we'll see what we can do.”

“I'm deeply grateful. If it's not too much to ask, is there any way you might also spare us a small quantity of thorium isotopes? Without them, our systems can't function.”

Tom glanced back again and raised an eyebrow. 

“I think we can do better than that. We may be able to make it possible for you to manufacture them yourselves,” the captain said. 

“You can't imagine what this means to us, Captain. Thank you.”

~~~

On Tom’s advice, Janeway didn’t allow Rahmin any further than transporter room two. He was thrilled when B’Elanna handed him the energy matrix that he could use to create thorium isotopes, but petulant when he discovered she had only created one. Instead, she transferred the schematics to their ship’s computer so that the Caatati could create their own. 

The doctor, after scanning Rahmin and satisfying himself that there was nothing in his sickbay that would harm the Caatati, found vitamins and antibiotics he could spare, and Neelix managed to scrounge up several hundred kilos of food stores for them. It crossed Tom’s mind to apologize for the Federation ration packs, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they deserved them. Revenge, even petty, was sweet. 

Tom had laid in a course taking them away from Caatati space, and Baytart would implement it on the captain’s command. He and B’Elanna followed Janeway and Chakotay out of the transporter room and Tom maneuvered her left while they turned right. He clasped her hand and tugged her around a bend in the corridor. 

“What are you doing for lunch?” he asked. 

“I’ve been thinking about Vorik’s suggestion to realign the coolant injectors. It’s not a bad idea. Maybe I should start it this afternoon.”

“It’s a big job,” Tom said. “Could take half the night. You’d miss our dinner date.” 

He was gradually leaning closer to her, closing the space between them, and she leaned forward and tilted up her chin. “I wouldn’t want to do that,” she said. “I know you’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Well, I have made a few plans,” he murmured. 

“I’ll bet you have.”

He kissed her then, soft and sweet, and she leaned into him, snaking a hand up his chest to the back of his head. His hands found her waist, and he pulled her more snuggly against his chest. 

“There you are!”

The Doctor appeared around the corner and B’Elanna jumped. “This is getting old,” Tom grumbled. 

“Mister Paris, I want you to report to sickbay. I want to make sure this ‘time loop’ as you call it hasn’t done any damage to your DNA.”

“You’re not gonna find anything, doc. You didn’t before.”

“No matter. Don’t make me make this an order, Lieutenant.”

Tom sighed. “Fine. How about after lunch?”

The doctor glanced at B’Elanna, back at Tom. “And what were you planning to do in the meantime?”

Tom’s stomach rumbled, right on cue. “Eat mystery stew.”

“Fine,” the doctor echoed. “I’ll let the captain know you won’t be at your post. I expect you in an hour. Be there, or I’ll have you beamed there.” 

~~ 

Tom had forgotten about Neelix’ little _surprise_ for B’Elanna until they entered the mess and reached the counter. “B’Elanna!” Neelix grinned, his eyes alight with his secret. 

“Oh no,” Tom murmured.

B’Elanna glanced at him, a question in her eyes. “Neelix.” She smiled. _She’ll stop doing that pretty soon,_ Tom thought. 

“Happy Day of Honor, Lieutenant!” Neelix enthused. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you until this evening. You get so busy down in engineering.”

“Umm,” she glanced at Tom, “No, I have time for lunch.”

“Oh, good!” He was almost vibrating. “Why don’t you go sit down. I have a special treat for you.”

“A treat?” Her eyebrow rose, and Tom could tell she was starting to get suspicious. 

“How about over there?” Tom waved to a table under the viewport and closed his hand around her elbow. “I am so sorry,” he whispered in her ear, tugging her along. “I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?” she hissed.

They had just taken their seats, B’Elanna had just said his name, an edge in her voice, “ _Tom_?” when Neelix appeared at their table, a hand behind his back and a grin on his lips. 

“Happy Day of Honor, B’Elanna!” He pulled a plate of reddish muck from behind his back. It was studded with stiff, curled, purple strips of _something_ that resembled the dried ears of some unfortunate small animal. 

B’Elanna froze. “ _Rokeg_ blood pie.” He voice sounded small.

Neelix bounced on his toes with delight. “I found the recipe in the database. Unfortunately, we didn’t have comparable ingredients in ship’s stores so I had to replicate it.” He shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be almost as good as homemade.”

“Thank you, Neelix. That was…thoughtful of you.” 

She eyed the pie as if he’d set a bloody heart of targ on the table. _Small mercies,_ Tom thought. 

“What can I get you, Tom?” Neelix smiled at him. 

“A fork.” B’Elanna glared at Tom, daring him to object. Neelix looked surprised, then delighted, and produced the utensil from a hidden pocket in his tunic. 

“Here you go! Bon appetit!” He turned and walked back to the kitchen with a spring in his step. 

Tom glanced from the abomination on the table to B’Elanna. She was staring at him, unblinking, her lushous mouth drawn into a thin line. “You knew about this? And you didn’t warn me? You didn’t even try to prevent it?”

“Well,” Tom struggled to think on his feet. “There are certain fixed points in time, where the same thing happens no matter what you do to try to change it.”

“And this,” she gestured toward the plate with her fork, “is one of them?”

“Hey, it’s not that bad.” She looked sceptical. “You forced me to choke it down once.”

“And you forgot?!” She was incredulous. 

“I had other things… Nevermind.” He poised his fork over the plate, took a deep breath and dug in. He shoved an overflowing forkful into his mouth and grimaced, chewed, swallowed. 

B’Elanna burst into laughter. “Happy Day of Honor, Tom,” she said and took a somewhat smaller bite. He thought for a moment she was going to spit it out again, but she managed to swallow. 

All he could do was laugh.

~~ 

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “I don’t mind. It doesn’t matter.”

She looked at him and took a deep breath. “Yes, it does.” 

“Then let’s do it together.” He keyed in the code to bring up the programme and ordered the computer to load it. He looked at her and she nodded, and they strode through the doors. 

She paused as she stepped into the cavern, her eyes going automatically to the torches stuck at intervals midway up the rock walls. Smoke had pooled around the low ceiling, and there was a haze in the air. Tom fought the urge to cough. 

He followed her along a corridor, knowing where it led and who was waiting for them at the other end. It was cool and damp, and after a few meters Tom felt a distinct chill. The corridor widened out, and they rounded a corner and entered a large cavern. An even larger Klingon warrior stood near the far wall. 

“ _Qapla’_! What warrior goes there?” He was huge, tall and broad and thick as a tree trunk. Tom had had time this morning to tinker with the programme, to tone down the painsticks and make a few other changes, and he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him to shave twenty centimetres and a few dozen kilos off the interrogator. He almost thought, _next time_ but halted the words before they could fully form in his brain. The only next time would be next year. 

“My name's B'Elanna, daughter of Miral.”

“I’m Tom, son of Owen.” Tom stepped beside her and glanced at her face. She looked somber, serious. She lifted her chin and drew back her shoulders. 

“Do you come to have your honour challenged?” the warrior, Moklor, demanded.

“Yes.” They said it together, and he sneered at them. 

“Are you willing to see the ceremony through to the end?” 

B’Elanna glanced at Tom, then nodded. “That's the idea, isn't it? What do we do?”

Moklor threw his head back and puffed out his chest. His long braids slid over his shoulders and smacked against the leather armour that encased his chest and back. “It will be a lengthy ordeal. First, you must eat from the heart of a sanctified targ.”

He gestured to the two slightly smaller warriors behind him, and one handed him a plate. On it were several ragged chunks of a pale pinkish lavender meat, sitting in a pool of bloody liquid. It looked disgusting. 

“ _Pak'logh_!” he hollered. 

B’Elanna snatched a piece from the plate and shoved it in her mouth. Her nose was scrunched up, and her eyes almost squeezed shut in revulsion. She chewed, then her face cleared and she turned her head and looked at Tom. He selected a chunk of targ heart and popped it in his mouth. The sweet, rich flavour of chocolate spread on his tongue. He winked at B’Elanna and she rolled her eyes. 

“What? Does it have to taste horrible to count?”

Her lips quirked. “I guess not.” 

“Hey, you thought it was real targ when you took it,” he pointed out. 

“Silence!” Moklor shouted. “Yes, the heart of targ brings courage to one who eats it. Next, you will drink _mot'lach_ from the Grail of Kahless.” 

The second warrior handed him an oversized ornate goblet, which he shoved into B’Elanna’s hands. She took a tentative sip and wrinkled her nose at the taste. Tom frowned; that was a good Katarian merlot, she should be smiling.

Moklor was shouting again. “Drink to the glory of Kahless, the greatest warrior of all time!” 

She gulped down more wine, then passed the goblet to Tom who took a mouthful and realized immediately why B’Elanna had reacted the way she had: Katarian merlot tasted horrible with chocolate. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

Moklor snatched the goblet from Tom and shoved it at his nearest lacky. He drew himself up to his full, formidable height and propped his fisted hands on his hips. “Kahless defeated his enemies on the field of battle and built a mighty empire. How have you proven yourself worthy?”

B’Elanna shot a look at Tom, and he felt a little wave of panic. How had he distinguished himself? They’d been in some skirmishes in their three years in the Delta Quadrant, but no major battles. Even in their contact with the Borg they'd gotten off light. 

“Well,” B’Elanna hedged, “I haven't built any empires, and I can't say that I've personally defeated any enemies in battle, but you have to realise we’re not living among warriors.”

“Then how do you expect to distinguish yourself?”

And then Tom remembered: he’d discovered in his research that one way to gain honor in battle is to unite with one enemy to defeat a stronger foe. They’d united with the Borg in their battle against Species 8472.

“I don't know. I guess I'm doing the best I can.” There was an edge of anger to her voice, and Tom sensed that she’d had almost enough of Moklor’s pompous superiority.

“A pitiful reply,” he bellowed.

“The Borg,” Tom interjected. “You allied with the Borg to defeat Species 8472.”

“In the end, that didn’t seem very—”

Tom cut her off before she said the H-word. “We didn’t know that at the time. And after what they did to Harry, they were our enemy. At least for a while.”

“And you?” Moklor sneered at Tom. 

He glanced at B’Elanna and took her hand in his. “I died three times trying to save the woman I love, that has to count for something.”

“Three times?” She was confused, clearly surprised by his revelation. 

“I would have died a thousand times, B’Elanna.”

Moklor grunted happily—that seemed to satisfy him. “Let us proceed. A warrior must endure great hardship. To test your mettle you will endure the ritual of twenty pain-sticks. After that, you will engage in combat with a master of the bat'leth. Finally, you will traverse the sulphur lagoons of Gorath!”

Tom shot a look at B’Elanna. She was frowning again, and her body had tensed. He was starting to believe that this wasn’t such a good idea. Moklor stepped back and his two warriors advanced on them. Tom tried to evade him, but his Klingon soon had him in an iron grip. Moklor stepped forward and before Tom could even form an objection he thrust his arm forward and the painstick connected with Tom’s gut. 

He had toned them down, but it still hurt! Pain zipped along his spine and spread out to his limbs. He heard B’Elanna gasp as Moklor jabbed her, then his own pain seemed to double as the big Klingon poked him again, a new wave of hurt engulfing him before the last had completely ebbed. Tom wrenched one arm free and struck out at the inquisitor at the same time as he kicked backwards. He heard a grunt of pain behind him, and the lacky let go of his other arm. Tom made contact with Moklor’s shoulder, and managed to deflect his aim so he didn’t get B’Elanna a second time. 

She threw back her head and connected with the face of the Klingon behind her, and Tom heard the sickening crunch of his nose breaking. It made his own eyes water. She ducked down, wrenching herself free, and came up with a roar, aiming a fist at Moklor’s face. Unfortunately, Tom had used the distraction of B’Elanna’s gymnastics to move in closer, hoping to force the giant backwards. B’Elanna’s fist connected with Tom’s jaw, rattling his teeth and knocking him on his ass. 

“Tom!” Her eyes were huge with shock, and she knelt beside him, reaching tentatively toward him. Tom’s combadge chirped.

“ _The Doctor to Lieutenant Paris._ ”

 _How did he know_? Tom wondered. He brought up a hand and cupped his chin. 

“I am so sorry! Are you alright?” Tom decided it was worth it for the look of concern in her eyes. 

“On your feet, _peta’Q_!” Moklor roared. 

“Computer, freeze programme,” B’Elanna said. She had one hand on his shoulder, one on his cheek, and Tom realized it would take no effort at all to pull her onto his lap. 

“ _Mister Paris, answer me! If you don’t respond, I mean it, I will have you transported to sickbay!_ ”

Tom tapped his combadge. “I’m here doc, and actually, I’m looking forward to seeing you.” He grinned at B’Elanna and immediately regretted it as his jaw throbbed. 

“ _Well, you’re late. So come here immediately. Doctor out._ ”

B’Elanna helped him to his feet. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean—” Tom cut her off with a kiss.

“Fixed points, B’Elanna,” he said with a laugh. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.”

~~ 

Tom stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. He scruffled his hair, then dragged it over his chest and arms, down his belly and legs before he wrapped it around his waist. He peered at himself in the mirror over the sink, and reached up to smooth down his hair. To shave or not to shave? He had popped back to his quarters before he met with B’Elanna and the captain in the transporter room before lunch. Chakotay’s pointed look and murmured ‘Why don’t you take a moment, Tom’ had reinforced the commander’s commitment to ‘fleet regs in Tom’s mind, and Tom had taken the opportunity alone in his quarters to spend a few extra minutes to adjust the Day of Honor programme. Not enough, as it turned out, but it all worked out in the end. 

B’Elanna had ‘helped’ Tom to sickbay and confessed to the doctor that she was the one who had pummelled him. Tom had complimented her on her right hook, and she had admitted that Chakotay had given her boxing lessons back in their Maquis days. 

“So you could defend yourself?” he’d asked. 

“Yeah, from guys like you,” she’d laughed in reply. 

“Oh it’ll take more than a few loose teeth to deter me,” he’d grinned, showing all his teeth intact.

He was grinning now, smiling at himself in the mirror like a fool. He couldn’t wait for this evening. He walked to his closet and selected his light brown slacks and pulled them on over his regulation boxer briefs. He’d just slipped into a patterned shirt when his door chime rang. Harry? The captain with more questions? He pulled on a striped vest and quickly started to button his shirt as he called, “Come in.”

B’Elanna stood just inside his doorway and glanced around. She finally located him near his bed, and she smiled and walked further into his quarters, dropping a small sack beside the door. 

“You’re early.” He smiled as B’Elanna came closer. “I thought I was picking you up. Couldn’t wait to see me?” 

She was wearing that dark brown dress that he loved. He’d seen her in it before though she’d never worn it for him until now. It was made of a soft, velvet material that clung to her body and caught the light when she moved, and it made him want to touch it. To touch her. He quickly finished buttoning his shirt as she crossed the room. 

“How did you know that I love you?” she asked without preamble.

That made him pause. “You told me. You...tell me the first day. When I woke up the next morning, I thought it was a dream, but…”

“But I tell you again because it all happens again.” 

She’d walked up close to him, seriously invading his personal space. She was staring at him, her eyes firmly fixed on his. He flicked a glance to her bare shoulders, her collarbone, her throat. He wanted to touch her. “Yeah.”

She laughed and looked away. “I can’t imagine I would actually say it.”

Tom gave in and cupped her shoulder in his palm. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

She drew back and her chin came up, her eyes flashed defiance. “Well now I have to know!”

Tom sighed. “When I said the _Cochrane_ explodes, and we’re in space in our EV suits, I left something out.”

She nodded. “I thought you did.” She peered at him again, and Tom knew he looked pained. He really didn’t want to tell her, but he’d started, and he owed it to her. 

She reached out and placed her fingertips on his chest. “I’ve been wondering what we talked about while we were waiting for _Voyager_ to rescue us.”

“The Academy. Zero gee simulations.”

“My chequered career?” 

“A little,” he admitted with a smile. 

“Great,” she muttered. 

“And how you fascinate me.” He stepped away from her, unwilling to let her see his face while he told her. “Ion turbulence damages our suits and we only have about half an hour of oxygen left.”

“But they’re supposed to have at least twenty-four hours of oxygen!” 

“I know. My suit is damaged and, well, we end up sharing your air.”

She tilted her head. Her voice was soft. “So...that’s fifteen minutes? We think we’re going to die?”

“Yeah.”

“So I only tell you because I think we’re dying?”

Tom nodded. “Yeah. It was a Day of Honor thing.” He shrugged slightly and looked at her. Her eyes were huge, and she was staring at him intently.

“And you tell me,” she said, and touched his arm.

She smiled at him, and he loved the warmth that shone in her eyes. He hated that he had to dash her preconceptions, but he wasn’t going to lie to her even if it was about an alternate timeline that wouldn’t happen now. He held her hands in his, took a breath and shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

She stiffened and drew away from him. He read the sudden uncertainty in her eyes, and reached for her. “Hey, I was suffering from oxygen deprivation. I was almost unconscious.” He smiled. “I was sure I was dreaming. I dreamed of you telling me that for months.”

Her mouth quirked, and she relaxed. “That was the key,” Tom said. “If I’d told you right away, none of the rest would have happened. That’s why I told you this morning. That’s what fixed the loop. I hope.”

“And if it didn’t?”

Tom shook his head. “It has to.”

She nodded. “So, where are we going for dinner?” She reached up and ran her fingers along the open collar of his shirt. Her index finger strayed to to touch the crisply curling hair on his chest. 

“I programmed an intimate little restaurant in Marseille, France.”

“Sounds nice.” She smiled and moved a little closer. “You spent your second year in the Academy there, didn’t you?”

“Yeah”

“And what’s on the menu?”

“Wellll,” he drew out the word as he wound his arms around her waist and tugged her closer. “I thought a nice moules à la Marinière, and baked pommes frites with warm crusty bread and a chilled white wine. A Sancerre.” 

She nodded, tilted her head. “And for dessert?”

He didn’t let her down. “Mocha Pots de Créme.”

“That sounds delicious but…” She paused and laid her hands flat on his chest. “Why don’t we eat it here?”

He drew back, surprised. “You don’t want to go to France?”

“The holodeck isn’t going anywhere, and I thought maybe we shouldn’t either.” She pushed the vest off of his shoulders. He let go of her, and it slid down his arms and hit the floor with a soft _whump_. She reached back and unzipped her dress; it gaped around her throat. She wiggled a little, and the dress slid off her shoulders and down to her waist where it pooled, and she tugged on Tom’s hands and placed them onto her hips, then reached up and undid the buttons on his shirt one by one. 

He gripped her waist, his thumbs brushing her warm, silky skin, his fingers clenching the soft folds in the fabric of her dress. When she’d finished with the buttons and his shirt was lying open against his chest, she put her hands over his again and pushed. Her dress slid down her legs to the floor and she stepped out of it, forcing him to take a step backward, toward the bed. 

He’d seen her in a bathing suit on the holodeck, and in that amazing dress at the luau, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of her in her non-regulation black underwear. Her breasts were high and firm, pushing out of the soft, satin cups of her bra. He wanted to taste them, run his tongue over them. 

He cupped her cheek, touched his forehead to hers. She inhaled him then, tilting her head up, her mouth near the point of his jaw, her nose tucked under his ear, and Tom wanted to crush her to him, wanted to swallow her whole. _Breathe, Tommy,_ he thought. _Slow down._

He kissed a trail from her temple, across her cheek, along her throat. His hand dropped to her shoulder, her arm, and she turned slightly so he cupped her breast. He rubbed his thumb over the firm, rounded arc of flesh spilling out from her bra, and she growled low in her throat. 

He kissed her again, couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried. His fingers tangled in her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head. Her hands slid over his shoulders, and she dug her nails into his scalp. 

“How many times have we done this?” Her voice was low and breathy.

Tom shook his head. “None. There’s only one first time, B’Elanna. I hope.” 

“Really? Not even after _Voyager_ picked us up?”

“I was unconscious. I woke up in bed.” He felt a distinct lack of oxygen right now. 

She nipped his ear, ran her teeth over his jaw. “Bed sounds like a very good idea.” She drew back and stared into his eyes. 

He almost asked her if she was sure but he could see that she was and joy bubbled inside of him. He did crush her then, in a hug that lifted her off her feet and swung her in a circle. He took two steps to the bed then lowered her feet to the floor and kissed her like he was a drowning man and she was air. 

She sat on the bed, pulling him down to her, kissing him hard on the mouth, shoving the shirt off his shoulders and pushing it down his arms. She scratched her nails through his chest hair, then dropped her hands to the fastener of his pants. He almost told her to slow down, but he didn’t want it slow. He wanted her now, had wanted her for months, but the ache of it had compounded over the last ten days. Knowing that she loved him, but fate or Time or his own stupidity refusing to allow them to get together had made him want her all the more, made him need her, and there was no way in hell he’d put her off now.

She had his slacks undone and shoved to his knees, and she reached for his erection straining against his ‘fleet issue briefs. He stepped back, kicked his legs free, then sat beside her and pulled her against him, wrapped his arms around her. He lay back, pulling her along, angling her on top of him so he could run his fingers through her hair. He kissed her mouth, her nose, tilted his chin up so he could—finally—kiss her forehead ridges. He sighed against her hair as she kissed the hollow along his collarbone. She looked at him and grinned, and he pushed the hair out of her eyes, cupped her cheek. He felt a fierce, possessive love for her bloom in his belly; she was his. Only his. 

He slid a hand around her waist and up her back to the band of her bra. Her skin was velvety soft and smooth, and he felt gratified when hours of practise as a teenager paid off and the catch on her bra separated and the band sprang apart revealing the silken plane of her upper back. “Smooth,” she chuckled, and Tom laughed in response. 

He rolled her onto her back, stripping her bra away, kissing a trail down her throat and chest. He licked her nipple and finally, finally, closed his lips around it. She gasped and rose up off the bed, arching her back to get closer to him. He swirled his tongue around the nub, then bit gently and tugged. Her fingernails bit into his back, and her hips jerked against his chest. 

He moved to the other breast, and grazed the pads of his fingers down her ribs, spanned her waist. Her fingers had twisted into his hair, but she let go and reached for her panties and began to tug them off. He released her nipple and helped her, pulling them down her legs and off, and dropping them to the floor. “I want to taste every bit of you,” he said, his voice husky and raw.

“Later.” She reached for his briefs and tugged. In an instant they were both bare and he just looked at her, gazed at her smooth, toned, cocoa coloured skin, made bronze by the red lights over his bed. She was looking at him, too, and it didn’t even occur to him to feel self-conscious. He kissed her again, pulling her to him, losing himself in the heat of her, in her strength and softness.

Her foot slid up his leg, pulling him closer, and she arched her hips up to his. “Now, Tom,” she insisted, her voice low and breathy. He shifted, and she clutched at his arms as he slid into her in one slow, smooth stroke. They stilled, and he held his breath, clinging to her, straining against her. She arched against him, brought her arms around his back, holding him close.

He moved then, just a little, pulling out of her heat, then sliding back in, and she made a whimpering sound in his ear. She was tight and hot around him, her muscles clutching him as he pulled out slightly then thrust back into her. Her hips rose from the bed, meeting his, quickening their pace, and he matched her. He wanted to go slower, gently; he wanted to slam into her, fast and rough. He wanted to worship her with his hands and mouth and body; he wanted to swallow her whole. 

She was gasping, clinging to him with her legs and arms, heat rising from her. She scattered kisses on his shoulder, his neck, sucked his earlobe into her mouth and bit down, and Tom spasmed with the shock of it, the thrill. He turned his head and kissed her hard, and his arms started to shake from holding himself off of her. She reached up, finding his hands fisted in the sheets, and tugged until he opened them, wove his fingers with hers. She pulled his arms straight out to the side so he fell onto her, and her body arched upward to meet him, her breasts mashing against his chest. He felt her body all along his, her heat and softness and strength, and felt his orgasm rushing toward him like a living thing, unstoppable, enormous. 

She gasped and her body tensed, bowed beneath him, her hips frantically jerking against his, and he was gone, undone. His muscles locked for a moment and he came in a rush, spilling into her, feeling his very soul merging with her. She was everything. Everything to him. 

He came back to himself sprawled on top of her, their hands still clasped, still intimately joined. He never wanted to move again. He started bouncing slightly, small jerking movements making his upper body rise and fall sharply. She was laughing. He pushed up a little, resting some of his weight on his elbow, some on her belly. She tightened her legs around his waist, rested her heel on the small of his back. “What’s so funny?” He asked the question into the bedsheets; he wasn’t sure he had the energy to turn his head. 

She rubbed her nose against his cheek, kissed him softly on the jaw. “When I came here tonight, I promised myself we’d take it slow. I wanted to give you time to…back out.”

Tom laughed. He turned his face to her and kissed her on the mouth long and deep. “That’s funny,” he murmured, “I told myself the same thing. I didn’t want you to feel rushed, to think, well…”

“That you only wanted me for my body?” she laughed with him.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Tom said, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him, “I’m glad we got that sorted out.” 

~

She wore his bathrobe while they ate dinner (a more simple meal of beef stew, bread, and beer, figuring they’d save the French fare for tomorrow night). Tom had slipped on his boxers and his ugly shirt. He’d suggested they eat naked, just so he could look at her, but she’d refused. “Prude,” Tom had said, and she’d countered by promising to show him just how _unprudish_ she was after they ate. 

They’d talked about the programme, and he’d recounted how they’d argued about it twice, and that she’d punched him twice though he now suspected she’d wanted to do it during their arguments as well. He’d complimented her on her restraint, and she’d laughed. He’d mentioned that the first punch had knocked him out cold, and she’d grimaced in sympathy and leaned over the table to kiss him ‘better’. 

They were lying in his bed, her body curled around him, her head on his shoulder, their legs entwined. He’d rested his cheek against the top of her head, and he was idly playing with her hair. She sighed and settled softly against him, and he felt her eyelashes flutter against his chest as she closed her eyes. They’d just made love again and he lay there, marvelling at his luck, blown away that she would want him, that she would choose _him_ when she could have anyone.

He’d thought their second time would be slower, sweeter, but when she’d asked him over dessert (blueberry bisque - the ice cream, not the fish chowder) just how much he liked the _Klingon stuff_ and he’d answered with “bring it on, Torres” (a bit of irony that he only just now appreciated), she’d risen from the table, fisted her hands in his shirt and hauled him to his feet. He’d barely had time to grin in anticipation before she’d tripped him and knocked him to the floor. She’d landed on him, pinning him, her eyes glowing, shouting, “ _BIjegbe’chugh vaj bIHegh_!” He’d surrendered, eventually. 

Their ice cream had melted.

He decided that he definitely liked the Klingon stuff. He wasn’t bloodied or broken, but he was bruised and a little sore, and delighted in the thought that he might be stiff tomorrow, that the pain would be a constant reminder of tonight. If there was a tomorrow. He fervently wished there would be. _Lady Q_ hadn’t actually told him that telling B’Elanna he loved her would fix the time loop, but she’d hinted, and she’d allowed him to believe it. 

He lay with her, twirling her hair around the index finger of one hand, the other resting on her hip, his fingers splayed, fingertips touching her spine. In her uniform and boots, she looked bigger somehow, but naked, her bare feet resting against his ankles, he realized how tiny she really was. Her personality, her temper, made her huge, but now, sleepy and sated, he marvelled that she’d been strong enough to knock him down. 

He almost laughed, remembering how she’d beaten the crap out of that Klingon warrior in the holoprogramme, and how she’d knocked himself on his ass with one punch! A delicate little flower, she most certainly was not!

“What?” she murmured, angling her face toward his and opening her eyes.

“Nothing,” he laughed. “I just love you, B’Elanna.”

She smiled sleepily. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” He kissed the top of her head. She was still for a moment, but he knew from the tension in her body that she hadn’t fallen asleep. 

“You said you died three times. Did we both die three times?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

Tom sighed. “I told you about the core breaching on _Voyager_. She nodded. “Another time, I think it was the Caatati tractor beam that triggered it.”

“You said the _Cochrane_ explodes.”

“It does, but aside from that one time, we’ve beamed out before it does.”

“In our EV suits,” she remembered. “I can’t imagine thinking we’re going to die and not being able to touch you.” She slid her hand from his chest to his belly.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut and hugged her closer. “It was…hard.”

She kissed his chest, settled against him again. 

“Most of the time, we just float there and talk. We fall asleep from lack of oxygen, but _Voyager_ shows up just in time to save us.”

“Except…?”

“Except for when she doesn’t.”

“So we asphyxiate.” She tensed, and her hand on his belly spasmed.

“No, that would have been easy.” He nudged her with his nose until she tilted her head up, then he kissed her. “We beam out, but when the shuttle explodes, we’re hit by the debris.”

Her eyes went round. “Kahless…”

Tom smiled. “No kidding.”

“Wait a minute. Once? Why didn’t it happen every time the shuttle exploded? Did you change the transport coordinates?”

He shook his head. “It didn’t occur to me.” She settled back against him and he heard her sigh. “When I woke up again, I was so angry! It was the third time we’d died. It felt personal. I...”

“You what?” she asked after his silence had stretched. 

“I didn’t go to see you in engineering. I couldn’t. I had a plan, and I went straight to the bridge instead. When the Caatati showed up, I fired a full complement of phasers at them. I blew them to hell.”

She was quiet again, still, and Tom was afraid he’d just lost her, that she wouldn’t forgive him for what he’d done.

“That’s why you were in the brig.”

He was silent, waiting for her rejection; waiting for her to get up and leave him. She rose up and kissed him instead, firm and sweet. “They’re alive. We’re alive, Tom. I love you, too.”

He hugged her tight. “How can you, after what I did?”

She slid off his chest and propped her head on her fist, looked him in the eye. “Do you remember, back in the Maquis, I reprogrammed Dreadnaught and sent it back to Cardassian space?” He nodded; there was no way he could forget it. “Believe me, Tom, a Klingon understands the desire for vengeance.”

He leaned down and kissed her, trailed a hand down her shoulder, her arm, over the curve of her hip. “I don’t deserve you.”

She grinned and formed a fist, brought it up to his chin and bopped him lightly. “I did sock you twice.”

“Knocked me on my ass,” he agreed. “I might have deserved that.”

“Might have?” She cocked an eyebrow. 

“I was only trying to help.” 

“Thanks. I’m not used to anyone helping me.” 

“Well, you might have to get used to it,” he said. “But next time I’ll remember to duck.”

She laughed, and settled back against him, warm and soft, her body bouncing against his chest with her laughter. “Good idea,” she said.

Tom wound an arm around her, hugged her tight for a moment, and sighed contentedly. He closed his eyes. She was making no moves to get up and get dressed, and that was just fine with him. It had been a hell of a day and, for the first time in a week, he was looking forward to tomorrow. 

~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _BIjegbe’chugh vaj bIHegh!_ \- Surrender or die!


	10. Day 2

_Fly, envious time, till thou run out thy race_

~ John Milton, “on Time”, 1630

~~~ 

:: _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ ::

Tom jolted awake, feeling a scream form in his belly. He tensed, and his shoulders rose from the bed, then a small, warm hand landed on his chest. He fell back onto the pillows and turned his head. B’Elanna was lying in bed next to him. She wore a soft, bemused expression, and her eyes were heavy lidded with sleep. 

“ _Today is a good day to die._ Really?” she asked. 

He felt himself colour. “I…it…” He shrugged. “When I was researching the Day of Honor… It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Like the painsticks?”

“Yeah.”

Her lips curled into a smile, then she yawned. “What time is it?” She propped herself up on one elbow and the neckline of the t-shirt she was wearing slid off her shoulder and gaped open. Despite what the female Q had said, Tom had always loved that shirt. More, now that B’Elanna was wearing it. Now that it was slipping off of her, exposing most of her left breast. 

“Tom?” Her voice was soft. “Time?”

“It’s early,” he grinned. He rolled toward her and slid a hand over her hip and onto her bare bottom. 

She leaned toward him and the t-shirt gaped open even more. “How early?” 

“Very early.” 

“Do you think we have enough time…?”

“Despite what you may have heard, Lieutenant, you’ll find that I can be remarkably goal oriented if I put my mind to it. In fact, with proper motiva—oof!”

~~

Thirty minutes later, B’Elanna was smoothing her hair, tugging on her uniform collar. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her boots. Tom was dressed in his uniform slacks and tank, and was taking his turtleneck shirt from a drawer when she stood and glanced at him.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “Ready for breakfast? I’ll just be a minute.”

“Sure.” She straightened and pushed away from him. “I’ll meet you there.” Her tone was light, cheerful. But her words didn’t make any sense.

“Meet me?” Tom frowned. “Why, did you forget something?” She’d brought a clean uniform with her last night, packed in a small duffle. Tom had been tempted to tease her about being presumptuous—maybe he preferred to sleep alone?—but he didn’t want to risk her thinking he was serious. She could move into his bed right now, if she wanted. He certainly wouldn’t argue! He peered at her and she glanced away. 

“It’s just… I don’t think it’s anyone’s business if I stayed here last night. I just don’t want people to know yet, to talk, that’s all.”

Tom tried to keep his expression even. If he was working alpha shift this week, he was pretty sure Fitzpatrick had figured it out. “Okay.”

“So, I'll meet you in the mess in ten minutes?” She kissed him again, then nuzzled his cheek. “Don’t forget to shave. You don’t want Chakotay on your ass.”

“He does seem to be strangely preoccupied with the state of my facial hair,” Tom agreed.

She stepped away and headed for the door, then paused and turned back to him. “Hey, where’s that helm report you owe me?” 

Tom halted on his way to the bathroom and waved to his desk. B’Elanna crossed to it and picked up a padd, thumbed it on. “ _Klingon for the Galactic Traveler_?”

“Oh! Um. No, that’s not—”

She held it aloft and Tom hurried over and snatched it from her hand. “I was using it for, you know, research. For the programme.” He knew he looked embarrassed; his ears felt hot. She smiled at him. 

“Research, huh? So, aside from _Qapla’_ , what other words did you pick up?”

Tom snaked an arm around her waist. “ _qapar Ha’ qu’_ ” he said softly, gazing into her eyes.

B’Elanna frowned and drew away slightly. “Umm,” she said. 

“Did I say it wrong?” _Damn!_ Had he just insulted her parentage?

She snorted a laugh. “Not if you intended to tell me I suck.” At Tom’s pained expression, she relented. “It’s said like one word, no pauses. _qaparHa’qu’_. But thanks for trying.” 

He should probably mind that she was laughing at him, but he didn’t. There was a twinkle in her eye when she asked, “What else did you learn?”

Tom hesitated for a moment and she bumped him with a shoulder. “Come on, I won’t make fun of you.”

He drew a breath. “ _nuqDaq ‘oH puchpa “e’_?” 

B’Elanna nodded. “Always useful.”

“ _nuqDaq ‘oH tach’e’_?” 

She nodded again, her expression contemplative. “That sounds like you.” She raised an eyebrow.

Tom laughed. “ _Hoch DIl loDvam._ But I’ll only say that if Harry’s with me at the bar.”

She barked a laugh. “Those are all fine but you didn’t use them in the programme.” Her eyebrow had lifted with an unspoken question. 

“No,” Tom admitted, “but I did use, _‘e’ ‘uQ HItlhej DaneH?_ at the end. You just didn’t finish the programme.” He left out the part about him looking Klingon when he asked her on the dinner date.

She reached up, scraped her fingernails across the stubble on his jaw. “Yes, I’ll have dinner with you tonight.”

“In the holodeck?” he asked. He had a programme to show off.

She grinned. “Only if the privacy locks are on.” Then she kissed him again.

~~

Next door, Fitzpatrick walked out of his bathroom and climbed into bed. Another all-night poker game had meant he’d lose a few hours sleep (to go with the rations he’d lost on his full house: kings over jacks, who could have imagined it would be defeated by four threes?) but he didn’t really mind. He searched through his bedside table for a padd and thumbed it on, then scrolled to the line on Paris and Torres. 

It had been on the books for the last year and a half, and he’d got in early, when the odds were seventy-four to one, and everyone else had thought it was only on there as a joke. Tom Paris, the last man on the ship Torres would sleep with. Who was laughing now? He’d known he’d won when he’d nipped back to his quarters on his lunch break and saw her ringing Paris’ door chime wearing that amazing dress, but it was the overnight bag that had made him certain. What made it all the sweeter was that Paris himself had ten rations in the pot, either from ego or optimism, Fitzpatrick wasn’t sure. 

He sent his win claim, then lay down and called for lights out, and smiled as he imagined the meal he’d have after shift tomorrow. Something fancy, French, maybe? Or pizza in honor of Paris? Certainly not _gagh_. 

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, despite extensive research, when I wrote jIQeH loDnal SoH, the fic about Tom asking how to say, I love you in Klingon, I found nothing. Well, not nothing. I found a series of incredibly romantic phrases which later became the core of that story but I couldn’t find a simple ‘I love you’. A few months later, while looking for the definitive ‘Today is a good day to die’ I came across Omniglot.com, though the translator refused to recognize their ‘I love you’. It did spit out _qaparHa'qu’_. Whaddya know? An epilogue was born. 
> 
> _qaparHa’qu’_ \- I love you
> 
>  _nuqDaq ‘oH puchpa “e’_? - Where is the bathroom?
> 
>  _nuqDaq ‘oH tach’e’_?” - Where is the bar?
> 
>  _Hoch DIl loDvam._ \- This gentleman will pay for everything.
> 
>  _‘e’ ‘uQ HItlhej DaneH?_ \- Will you eat (dinner) with me?

**Author's Note:**

> All the poetry quotes about Time were gratuitously copied from exactlywhatistime.com. There’s a fascinating essay on Time in literature.


End file.
